


Oh Captain, My Captain

by Lethal_Interjection



Series: After the Endgame [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Awkwardness, BAMF Pepper Potts, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Sam Wilson, Carol Danvers is a Good Bro, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Smut, Existential Crisis, F/F, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Gay Sam Wilson, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Hydra (Marvel), Infinity Stone Soul World (Marvel), James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Old Man Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Racist Language, Rimming, Sam has a great ass, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers is still a little shit, Top Sam Wilson, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lethal_Interjection/pseuds/Lethal_Interjection
Summary: SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAMEAfter Endgame, Sam and Bucky try to deal.Slow burn, but trust me, there will be smut.





	1. Throw Some Spangles on It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone except Sam wants him to be Captain America but it's not that simple.

Life after Thanos was different. Well, different was putting it lightly, but what else could Sam call it? Everything had changed.

Nat was gone; gave her life for a magical space rock. Tony was gone; gave his life to use said magical space rocks to save the world--correction--the universe (because that was a thing now). Rhodey and Clint were retired, Rhodey slightly less so. Pepper had a suit of armor that she used from time to time. Stark Industries had merged with PymTech. SHIELD was back, with Maria Hill as director while Fury was up in space working on SWORD. Bruce was big, green, and somehow still a genius. Asgard was on Earth, but Thor had gone off to space with talking raccoon. Carol was leading two different teams of superheroes; the Avengers and the Ultimates, and Steve, in his infinite wisdom had decided to drop an impossible responsibility in his lap.

The once super, Super Soldier was now, an old man, and not just in spirit. Sam was still a bit foggy on how that whole thing worked, but he was tired of having Bruce explain it, only to be even more confused than he’d been at the start of the conversation. 

Speaking of Steve Rogers’ infinite wisdom, clearly, he’d bumped his head at some point during his time travel shenanigans because Sam was unequivocally against taking up the mantle of Captain America. It had been weeks since they’d buried Tony, memorialized Nat, and sent Steve back through time and space to return the Infinity Stones, and Sam still reeling from the whole thing. 

“He told me he was gonna stay,” Bucky had said one night as they both sat at Steve’s bedside. Sam would've been lying if he said that didn't hurt his feelings. Steve later told him that he knew Sam would've never let him leave if he'd let him in on the plan. So, he told Bucky, and Bucky understood.

Pepper had put Steve up in her and Tony’s old lake house—she couldn’t bear to stay there anymore—and hired two nurses and a full staff to care for him. According to Dr. Cho, there was hardly any more serum left in his system, he could go any day. Sam hoped he would go in his sleep. That always seemed like a peaceful way to go. Just drift off into the next stage of existence. 

Speaking of Pepper, she and Morgan had moved back west, though they were around quite a bit for business. She’d given Sam a job at S.I. and a condo in D.C. that he shared with Bucky. It was far too nice for either of them. Probably one of Tony’s old ones. 

Sam worked directly for Rhodes, as the Stark Industries’ Assistant Government Liaison and Bucky, the first Naturalized citizen of Wakanda, worked at the Wakandan embassy. Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit salty about that, but working with Rhodes was ideal. 

He slammed the empty shot glass on the table upside down and grimaced hard at the taste of bottom-shelf tequila. “Ugh. Salt!”

Carol slid a salt shaker across the bar and chuckled as he poured the contents onto his tongue. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not that bad,” she laughed.

“I’m sorry I don’t have alien taste buds,” he said, wiping at his tongue with a napkin.

“My taste buds are normal, _ass hole_.” She kicked at his stool.

“Look, if you’re gonna keep subjecting my top-shelf body to this bottom shelf bullshit, I’m gonna have to call it a night.” He rose from his barstool but she grabbed his arm. It was purposeful, but not forceful or threatening in any way and there was a solemn look in her eyes.

“Sit, Sam. Please. We need to talk.” Her tone was somber enough to cause his brows to furrow in concern.

“What is it?” He asked, anxiously.

She looked at the empty shot glass in front of her and sighed. “I need you, man. You can’t keep running from it.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Carol, you don’t get it—”

“No, _you_ don’t get it Sam,” she interrupted. “I can’t lead the Ultimates and the Avengers. I’m good, but I’m not that damn good. It was Fury’s idea to wait for you to pick up the shield to put you in charge, but that shit all semantics to me. I’m tempted to say fuck that and let you have it,” she said in a warning, yet sincere tone.

“Why can’t we just have one team?” Sam danced around the issue. He had become quite good at that as of late. “Y’know, one big happy family.”

“It doesn’t work like that and you know it. The Ultimates are more suited for SWORD missions. Intergalactic threats. We’re Earth’s Offense. 

Sam was tempted to argue that she'd been doing just fine leading everyone, but decided against it when he noticed how tired she looked.

“You guys handle the planetary stuff. Of course, we’d work together sometimes, but— Sam, it’s time, ok. Steve asked you to do this how long ago? SHIELD, S.I., and Pym Tech are ready to throw their support behind you. Pepper has her public relations team ready to jump, you just say the word. And between you and me,” she leaned in, “Shuri is building you a brand-new suit and wings. We just gotta… throw some spangles on it.”

Sam shook his head and looked down at his own glass. “They’re not gonna let me do it, Carol,” he muttered.

“Who the fuck is _‘they’_ Sam?”

“The people who are used to seeing Captain America in all his blond-haired, blue-eyed glory. The people who won’t be able to let him go just because I’m— It would be a fucking disaster, Carol. I’m not even a super soldier,” he argued. “Let Barnes do it.”

“Barnes?” Carol huffed. “James Buchannan Barnes? The goddamn Winter Soldier. You think _that_ would go over better? Are you high?”

“He’s been pardoned and cleared,” Sam pointed out. “He can catch the shield—I’ve seen him do it—and he’s an actual super soldier.”

“That’s a technological issue that Shuri has probably already thought of. She thinks of everything,” Carol replied. “Besides, Barnes won’t do it anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because Steve chose you and you’re crazy if you think Barnes would go against his wishes. Not to mention the fact that I had a hard enough time trying to get Barnes to _kinda_ join the Avengers. You'd think the man just wants to live a normal life,” she shrugged. “Who knows where he got that crazy idea.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. Carol had a way with words.

“Speak of the devil,” Carol murmured and Sam could hear the smile on her lips. 

Barnes sat down on the stool next to him and loosened his tie. It was still weird to see him in a suit but he didn’t look half bad. Classic black suit with a white shirt and blue tie, his once unruly hair slicked back in a low bun. 

Ok, so he looked good. Like, _really good_. Sam cleared his throat and hopefully those thoughts from his mind. 

“Sorry I’m late. Nakia is on a rampage.” He got the bartenders attention and ordered a vodka neat.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Carol smirked. “Sam. What’s it gonna be?” she asked and Sam looked up at her then glanced over at Barnes who’d taken his drink down in one gulp and was ordering another. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week.” That gave him a few days to come up with another excuse as to why he would not be donning the red, white, and blue.

“Friday,” Carol said, standing. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, and punched Barnes in the arm on her way out.

“Ow! Tell Val I said hey,” he called after her. 

She tossed up a peace sign without looking back and disappeared through the front door of the bar.

“What’s she sellin’?” he asked Sam once she was gone.

“Oh nothin’, just wants me to be Captain America. No pressure,” he answered sarcastically. 

Barnes tossed back another vodka. “And you told her you’d let her know by the end of the week?” he asked Sam.

Sam nodded. “I thought super soldiers couldn’t get drunk,” he tried to change the subject.

“My serum was kind of a bastardized version of Steve's. Takes a few, but I'll get there eventually,” Barnes explained. “Look, Sam, I'm not tryna get in your business, but—”

“Then don’t,” Sam muttered.

“But,” Barnes repeated, “I think you should go for it.”

“Just go for it. Why? Because Steve Rogers said so?” Sam asked indignantly, rolling his eyes.

Barnes sighed and placed a third empty glass on the bar. “That’s not—” 

“None of you get it, man,” Sam said under his breath. He knew Barnes caught the comment because he turned to look at him as Sam rose from his seat. 

“You told him you’d do it, Sam.”

Sam shook his head and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll see you at home, man.”

When Sam got in the car, his phone went off. A text from Carol.

_You weren’t talking about race, were you?_

He wasn’t. Carol knew, probably better than anyone, what he meant. She’d received some backlash for going public with her relationship. It just so happened that she, nor Queen Brunnhilde actually gave a flying fuck about what people thought. Sadly, Sam didn’t have that luxury. He couldn’t fly off-planet for date night and he didn’t have superpowers to intimidate folks into shutting their stupid, bigoted mouths. 

Barnes was probably the last person who would understand. A straight, white man from the 40’s. Christ, they really had nothing in common. It was a wonder they hadn’t killed each other yet. As roommates went, though, he was on the better end of the spectrum. Sam could admit that much. He was quiet, (mostly) neat, he never argued over the TV, or what food they were gonna order, and he never ate Sam’s leftovers. A rarity among past roommates. Ok, so, maybe the guy wasn’t so bad, but he was still just a guy. A guy who could never and would never understand him. 

He found some solace in the fact that he was single. So, at least he didn’t have a boyfriend to protect from all this bullshit. That would be just about the most tragic thing ever. Strike one in the ‘pro’ column for Captain America. He wouldn’t have to address it if he just never had sex or a relationship ever again.

Sam glanced at his StarkWatch. Just after 7 pm. He could get to Steve’s place in under four hours if he floored it. A quick call to Rhodey with some bullshit excuse as to why he would be in around lunchtime tomorrow, and he was gone.

***

Sometimes Bucky had to literally pinch himself to believe this was really his life. Here he was, 106 years young, part-time Avenger, longest-living P.O.W., former Soviet asset and Hydra assassin, currently working for the ambassador of a technologically advanced African nation of which he was a naturalized citizen, living with his best friend’s other best friend in a swanky D.C. condo that was bought and paid for by the man whose parent’s he’d murdered while brainwashed (yeah, still working through that in therapy). Now, he was about to sit down a video call with his best friend whose life had been almost as fucked up as his, for their weekly chat.

Bucky loved seeing Steve as an old man. It reminded him that Steve had carved out a life for himself somewhere and even though it was in some alternate timeline (not even gonna touch that), at least one of them could die contented, having loved and lived. It was all he’d ever wanted for the little punk. Old man Steve was just as grumpy and adorable as one would imagine.

“Hello Mr. Barnes,” Steve’s night nurse, Angie waved cheerfully as she set up the video chat for Steve.

“Hey Ang,” Bucky smiled. Angie was a sweetheart. Steve gave her hell but what else was new. 

He heard Steve complaining in the background. “I got it, Angie. I told you, I can set up a Skype call.”

“I know, I know Mr. Rogers.” She playfully rolled her eyes at Bucky before getting Steve settled in his seat. “D’you need your blanket?”

“No, no. I don’t need my—stop it, Angie. I’m fine, go back to your game ok. I’m just gonna talk to Bucky and read for a bit, alright,” Steve called after her. He turned to the camera and smiled, “How ya doin’ Buck?”

“I’m fine you old meanie. Be nice to Ang ok, she’s nice,” Bucky implored him.

Steve rolled his eyes and sat back. “I’m plenty nice to Angie. I’m not some crotchety old coot.”

Bucky held back a laugh because Steve was, in fact, the very definition of a crotchety old coot. One of those fist-shaking old men with a backyard full of balls because the neighborhood kids were scared to knock on his door to ask for them back. Well, if he had a neighborhood that would be the case. It was oddly adorable though.

“If you say so, punk. So, what’s new? How ya been?”

Steve cradled his chin and thought for a moment. “What’s new since last week? Lemme see—I uh—oh, Pepper brought me this thing that carries me up and down the stairs so I don’t have to walk. I hate it but she scares the hell outta me so I use the damn thing. I think Bruce or Peter built it but they’re both acting like they don’t know a thing about it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. How do you think we wound up in this crazy ass apartment?”

“Speaking of we, where’s Sam? I haven’t heard any announcements yet. I figured they’d wanna make a public announcement.”

Bucky shook his head. Steve probably had no idea just how against this whole thing Sam really was. “Nah he uh—He's… not ready Stevie.”

“Not ready to do what?” Steve chuckled, “slap a star on his suit and throw the shield around?”

“It’s a lotta pressure you put on him, you gotta admit—” _Wait_ , did he just defend Wilson?

“Well, I didn’t mean to do that Buck. I just know him, I know what he represents and I thought he’d be a good fit for the mantle. I don’t want him to be like me. That wasn’t the point.”

“I know, I just think he’s a little apprehensive about—y’know… people can be dicks,” Bucky took a sip from his water bottle. 

“Apprehensive about what?” Steve asked.

“Maybe ‘cause he’s black,” Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I get it. There’s still plenty of bigots out there.”

“Well that’s just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Steve grumbled. “I thought you were gonna say because he’s gay.”

Bucky couldn’t have rehearsed a more perfect spit take if he had the rest of his life to practice. Water covered his laptop screen and keyboard, but he could still see Steve’s puzzled expression. Luckily, Stark brand laptops were built for anything. “He’s what?” he sputtered.

“Gay. Means he likes men, Bucky,” Steve added, unhelpfully.

“Yeah, Stevie. I know what gay means. I just didn’t—”

“You’re the man’s roommate. _You didn’t know?_ ” Steve probed.

Why would he know? He and Sam didn’t talk about anything of substance. Shopping lists, food orders, whatever the hell was on TV, _"hey where'd you get that sweater?"_ Never anything so personal. “No, I—well, we don’t talk about—Are you sure he’s—”

“He told me about his fiance who died on a mission after I’d known him for like two days so, yeah, Buck, I’m sure. He ain't exactly hinding it.”

Bucky just stared at his wet keyboard, stunned. Sam wasn't exactly _not_ hiding it either. How could this have never come up?

“God, I just outted a man,” Steve groaned. “Is he home? I need to call him before you try to talk to him with your... tactless face.”

“ _My tactless face?_ ”

“It’s the truth. You don’t handle stuff like this well,” Steve pointed out.

 _Stuff like this?_ “I just—he doesn’t—I mean—”

“See. There it is right there. You get all flustered, then your face does this weird… thing. It’s painful to watch really.”

“I’m not flustered.” _More like piquantly intrigued._

“Just let me talk to him first,” Steve demanded. “I should apologize at least.”

“He’s not here. I uh—I dunno where he went after the bar.”

“Well, I’ll call him or—”

“He’s scared of what people will say about him being gay, not about him being black,” Bucky mused in disbelief. How could he not know? How could he not _tell_?

“Well, to be honest, neither will go over great with a very small sector of my fanbase, but we wanna weed those types out anyway, right? God, Fox News is gonna have a field day. I hope Pepper has Stark Industries PR on this because SHIELD’s is not all that great at crisis control.”

Steve was rambling, but Bucky was lost in thought. Sam needed protection. A partner. Someone to help absorb some of the backlash he was about to catch in the event that he did take up the mantle of Captain America. Good PR was important, but they wouldn’t be the ones in the thick of it all. He needed someone to take at least some of the heat. 

“Bucky. BUCKY!” Steve hollered, shaking him out of a trance-like spiral. “You just zoned out on me. I thought my screen froze.”

 _Lightbulb moment._ “Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“He needs a sidekick. I mean, I was your sidekick for a while—”

“Nope,” Steve shook his head. “Bad idea.”

“Hey! I’m a great sidekick,” Bucky countered, a little offended.

“You were, Bucky, before you gained all that… baggage.”

“Oh, you mean my 70-year stint as a brainwashed assassin for America's enemies?”

Steve smirked smugly. He had a point, whatever PR team was handling this rollout would probably never go for it. He would have to convince them it was a good idea—charm whomever he had to—but it would be worth it. At best, standing next the former Winter Soldier would make Sam look like a saint. Pepper would probably go for it if Steve was on board—hell, Fury too—and their respective PR teams would have to follow suit. He just had to get Steve on board. 

“That’s the point, Stevie,” he pointed out, “I’ll make him look like Mother Theresa. The media will be so busy talkin’ shit about me, they’ll leave Sam alone.”

You gonna come out too, Buck? Steve asked, distracting him from his internal brainstorming.

"Come out? Nothing to come out about."

You know what I'm talking about, Buck."

He knew. Of course, he did, it was his life after all. Thanks to whatever the hell Shuri had done to his brain, he remembered exactly what Steve was referring to. He remembered kissing Kenny Richards by the docs when they were supposed to be unloading a shipment. He remembered LT Hanson subtly eye-banging him from across the bar before sinking to his knees in the alley to suck him off. None of that made him gay, necessarily. Sexuality was a spectrum, right? He liked women too. He was certain of that. He remembered his first kiss with Lizzie Reynolds in the 7th grade and the butterflies it gave him. He remembered taking Jane Albertson out dancing and fingering her in the taxi on the way back to her house. And he definitely remembers losing his virginity to Samantha Williams on her couch while her father was at work.

"Yeah, I know," was all he said before swiftly changing the subject to his plan for Sam.

It took about half an hour, but he was able to convince Steve that this was a good plan. The Avengers hadn’t publicly announced his membership just yet, so he had to get to Carol before Pepper and Fury. If he, Carol and Steve presented a united front, they would surely oblige. 

Bucky stepped out onto the balcony outside his bedroom. The air was crisp. perfect autumn evening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his StarkPhone.

“Barnes, this better be good,” Carol groused. “I have a pissed off Asgardian Queen waiting for me inside.”

“I’ll be quick,” Bucky promised. “Just had something to run by you.”

***  
It was 11:15 when Sam arrived at the lakehouse. Steve’s bedroom light was still on, but that that was no shock. He rarely went to sleep before midnight.

Sam knocked on the door where he was greeted by Steve’s bodyguard, Jason, who led him up to Steve’s room. He was reading a book on the couch in the corner. 

“Sam!” Steve greeted him with a warm smile and took off his glasses. Sam joined him on the couch. 

“How you feelin’ old man?” Sam asked.

“I’m great, Sam. Please tell me you didn’t drive all the way here on a Tuesday just to ask me that?”

“It’s fine. Already called Jim,” Sam assured him, “I just—I needed to talk to you.”

Steve smiled knowingly and placed a hand on Sam’s leg. “What’s on your mind, son?”

“I wanted to ask—I wanna know why you chose me. You coulda chose Barnes. Or literally anyone else for that matter.”

“That’s not true, Sam. You were the best choice. We both know Bucky would have been a disaster.”

Sam chuckled wetly at that. Barnes was still a walking disaster, even if he was looking less homeless and shopping at Banana Republic these days. Still, he was straight and white and he had grown up with and fought with Captain America. If it wasn’t for that pesky seven-decade jaunt as a Hydra assassin he’d be the obvious choice. 

“Sam, you represent the best of this country and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’ll do what’s right. That’s why I chose you,” Steve added, sincerely. 

Great. That didn’t add any more pressure. “Well, what about… y’know, my _lifestyle_?” he used air quotes for that last word. 

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about that,” Steve said as he sat back. Sam pulled a confused face. “I think I may have possibly outted you to Bucky earlier,” he explained, apologetically. 

“Oh,” was all Sam could muster in reply. Barnes would probably avoid him more than usual now. Walking on eggshells in his own home was not his idea of a good time. God, he hated moving more than anything.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Sam. I thought he knew. Figured you woulda told him by now.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not like I’ve been hiding it, we just don’t talk about stuff like that. _Wait_ , why were you guys talking about me?” That was the real question.

“Oh. He’s just worried about you. Told me I put too much pressure on you, which was not my intent by the way. Then we got to talking about your apprehensions. He said it might be because of your race and then, I said it might be because of your sexuality and—I’m real sorry, Sam.”

Ok. So, not the worst thing that could’ve happened. Not ideal though. He knew Steve never had an issue with him being gay, but he didn’t know Bucky all that well despite them living together for the past couple months. Sam was beginning to think that was the problem. 

“It’s fine Steve. What did he say? When you told him, I mean.”

“He was just a little surprised ‘cause he apparently had no clue. Bucky is usually pretty... _perceptive_ so I guess it caught him off-guard,” Steve explained.

“I bet,” Sam huffed.

“You think everyone from our time was a racist, homophobic, macho asshole, don’t you?” Steve smirked. “Bucky’s not like that. You two have so much in common, if you’d just talk to each other you’ll see that. Stop _pussy-footin’_ around that damn apartment and talk for once.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam admitted. “I guess I just been in my damn head all this time." Then he laughed when he realized what he'd just heard. "Did you just say 'pussy-footing'? My grandma used to say that."

“No worries," Steve said, ignoring Sam's comment. "You’ll make it right,” Steve said knowingly as he pat Sam on the back. “He actually has a plan to lighten the load on you. It’s a good plan, though I don’t think he really thought it out all the way.” Sam gave Steve a look that said he was completely lost, so Steve elaborated, "he wants to be your sidekick.”

“My— is that even a thing anymore. The Avengers are a team. No one is anyone’s sidekick,” Sam pointed out.

“True, but many would say that Rhodey was Tony’s sidekick and that you were mine. They actually used the word ‘sidekick’ on Bucky’s trading cards from back in the day,” Steve went on. 

“Holy shit, he had his own card too?” Sam laughed. 

“Yeah, all the Howling Commandos had cards. Happy found a few online for me. They’re in that box over there.”

Sam turned in the direction Steve was pointing. There was a shiny, wooden box with a golden clasp on an end table and Sam leaned over to scoop it up. 

Five cards in near mint condition, each in their own clear, plastic sleeve; Sergeant Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, Corporal Gabriel "Gabe" Jones, Private First Class James "Jim" Morita, Captain Steve Rogers, and Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes. He was handsome, Sam had to admit. Especially in that old school uniform with his hair swooped to the side just so. He was looking very much like the personification of Greased Lightning with that classic bad boy scowl, holding a Lee-Enfield rifle with a Colt 1911 on his hip. 

“Yup, there it is. Captain America’s sidekick,” Sam read from the back of the card. “Cute as this is, Steve, I still dunno how it helps me.”

“Well Bucky seems to think he can, I dunno, take some of the focus off you. What with him being such a controversial figure and all. Carol is on board, but he still needs to talk to Pepper and—” 

Wow. Bucky heard he was gay and immediately devised a plan to make his life a little easier. To… protect him. It was unexpected and thoughtful and incredibly selfless. The type of thing Sam imagined he would do for Steve or vice versa. Here Barnes was trying to protect him and Sam had judged him based on, well, nothing really. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed for being so critical of the man. 

“That’s… actually a good plan,” he admitted, “I don’t need him to protect me though, Steve.”

“I know you don’t, but when Bucky sets his mind to something, he can get pretty stubborn about it. He’s just as bad as me.” Steve confessed in earnest. 

“I don’t like that he didn’t discuss it with me first,” Sam tried, though he really did appreciate the sentiment.

“Well then, guess you guys have something to talk about now,” Steve suggested. The last part turning into a yawn. 

Sam stood and held out his hand. “C’mon, Spangles. Let’s get you tucked in.” Steve pulled himself up with Sam’s help and allowed Sam to help him to bed.

“Tony used to call me Spangles,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Sam replied, watching Steve smile at the memory.

“Bucky just wants to help, Sam. Don’t be too hard on him,” Steve implored him. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head to the guest room. Sleep well old man.”

Steve nodded and snuggled into his comforter, which shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was and Sam was tempted to smooth a few strands a hair back from his face, but instead he just stared at his mentor for a moment before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Will you be staying, Mr. Wilson?” Angie asked from the stairs. 

“Yeah, just tonight, and it’s Sam, Angie,” he smiled and she smiled back before returning to the first floor. 

Sam walked quietly down the hall to the guest room. In his haste to leave D.C., he hadn’t brought any clothing or toiletries, but he knew there were clean towels and unopened toothbrushes in the en-suite bathroom. 

After brushing his teeth, Sam stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers. The bed was too soft, but he didn’t have the energy to fight sleep any longer. 

As he drifted off, the warmth of gratitude consumed him. Appreciation for a man he’d misjudged, but as Steve had said, there was one thing Sam knew how to do; he would make it right.


	2. Pretty Little Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky have more in common than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people were upset that Steve gave Sam the shield at the end of Endgame instead of Bucky, but I think Sam was the best choice given his moral fortitude and his relationship with Steve by the end of the movie. He’s closer to being a fully-actualized person (if such a thing even exists). Bucky, arguably, is still finding himself after everything he’s been through. I like playing with the idea that Sam is anxious about taking up this mantle since he seems like a very confident person. I also wanted to explore Bucky being someone’s support system since he’s usually the one needing support in most fics I’ve read no matter who he’s paired with.

Talking to Pepper Potts-Stark and Nick Fury had to be the most terrifying thing he’d experienced since Shuri rid him of Hydra’s influence. Thank goodness it was over. Dancing around the fact of Sam’s sexuality while trying to plead his case had been tricky, but it wasn’t his story to tell. There was a reason it wasn’t already common knowledge. 

Fury had just stared at him for what seemed like an eternity while Pepper asked about 2.5 million questions that he had zero answers for. Eventually, she took pity on him and they began to brainstorm a bit. 

“Why’s this so important to you, Barnes?” Fury had asked after about an hour of silent death stares.

Careful to not let his true intentions be known, he simply replied, “Because it’s what Steve wants.”

Fury seemed to take that at face value, though his face still read skepticism. He left the meeting with an overly strong handshake and a harrowing, “I hope you know what you’re doing Barnes. We can’t fuck this up. Not with him.”

Pepper had left with a promise to speak with her PR team and set a date for a strategy meeting to come up with an actual plan for Bucky’s scheme. Now all they had to do was wait for Sam to get on board.

When Bucky got in the car after his lunch meeting he had a missed text from Sam.

_We need to talk after work. Wanna meet at the sushi place by your job?_

_Oh God._ Steve had probably given him some fragmented summary of Bucky’s plan. Sam was a proud man, he wouldn’t be happy about Bucky doing all this behind his back.

_Sure, what time? He typed in reply._

_6:30 work for you?_

_Yup. See you then._

He glanced at the display on his dashboard. Five hours and change until he had to face Sam.

***

It was 11:30 when Sam got to his office at Stark Industries’ D.C. headquarters and Jim was already waiting for him. Probably to give him shit for taking a half-day. That man never took a day off. It would be admirable if it didn’t make Sam so damn sad to think about him distracting himself with work. Sam, technically, still had his friend, but Jim hadn’t been so lucky.

“Nice of you to join us, Wilson,” Jim smiled, mock polite, “you got that proposal for SECDEF?”

He did. Thank God. He’d finished it yesterday. “For the new hot-weather uniforms, got it right here.” He picked up the tablet from his desk and swiped the screen a few times to send Jim the proposal. SI being 98% paper-free was such a blessing. “Got it?”

Jim glanced down at the tablet in his lap, “Yup.”

Sam put his messenger bag down and asked Friday to open the blinds. When he realized Jim hadn’t moved from his seat, he turned back to the man. “Need somethin’ else, Jim?”

“Nope.” He still wasn’t moving though.

 _“O…K…”_ Sam drawled, “got somethin’ on your mind?”

Jim squinted a little like he was trying to read Sam’s face. Too perceptive for his own good. Likely a result of dealing with Tony Stark for over three decades. “No. Something is on yours though. Wanna talk about it?”

Jim was easy to talk to. Mostly because they had so much in common; both from the DMV, served in the military with exemplary service records and awards to spare. Both of their fathers had served. Both men had mothers who still cooked huge feasts on Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. They each had one sister a niece they adored; Sam’s niece Jada had just started fourth grade, and Jim’s niece Riri had was in her first year at MIT. And of course, in a tragic coincidence, they’d both suffered the loss of a best friend.

Jim had been trying to keep it all together since Tony passed. Between him and Happy, Pepper seemed like she was doing better; Morgan was thriving, a little prodigy in her own right; and they had finally wrangled Peter into therapy. If there was anyone who needed to talk about their feelings, it was Peter Parker. That poor kid had been through the fucking ringer.

“Just trying to figure this whole… Captain America shit out,” he finally relented before taking a seat at his desk.

“I see,” Rhodey nodded. “You’re gonna do it though, right?”

“I told Steve I would.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache was brewing.

“Not a great reason, but ok,” Jim shrugged. “Do you _want_ to be Captain America?”

“More than anything,” Sam sighed.

“Then what’s the problem?” Jim asks, crossing his arms. 

“For one, I’m black, people won’t like that—”

“Bigots,” Jim interrupts. “Bigots won’t like it. Continue,”

“There’s also the matter of me being gay, which… I just don’t want to bog the mantle down with all my… drama,” Sam explained. 

“Sam,” Jim reached for him and grabbed his hand. “Your identity is not drama. God, I feel like I’m talking to Tony,” he muttered woefully. “You are good enough, ok. Better than good enough. You’re the only person Steve wants to take his place and there is a reason for that. Let the world see you how we see you.”

Now Sam understood how Jim could be Pepper’s support system. The man just oozed comfort and support. “Thanks, man,” Sam smiled.

“Anytime.” Jim stood from his chair. “Now, get back to work, Wilson,” he barked, trying to sound like the tough boss.

Sam opened his e-mail as Jim left his office. Groaning at the sheer number of messages he’d accumulated since last night. Sometimes he missed the VA and this was one of those times. Among the pointless work e-mails, which were mostly CCs, was one from Carol:

_Sam,_

_Strategy meeting Friday at the Triskelion. You promised me an answer by then. FYI, Pepper and Fury are already on board, thanks to your roommate._

_See you then,_

_Carol_

So, Barnes had already talked to Pepper and Fury. Sam didn’t know if he should be thankful to the man for being proactive or offended that he hadn’t consulted the very person all this was concerning. He eventually decided to postpone judgment until dinner. He would gauge Barnes’ intentions then. For now, he had work to do.

***

Bucky glanced at his watch, Sam was ten minutes late. Luckily for him, Bucky had an eidetic memory and they’d gotten take out from this place twice before, so he was able to place Sam’s order. After the fact, he hoped Sam wouldn’t be offended by this gesture.

Sam rushed into the restaurant around 6:45, flustered and apologetic in khakis and a navy sweater vest with a brown leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Barnes. I had this last-minute presentation with the SECNAV ‘cause he was going outta town and—”

“It’s fine, really,” Bucky assured him. “I ordered you the volcano roll and the Iron Man roll. That’s uh—that’s what you get from here, right?” 

“Oh. Yeah, that’s—you ordered for me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I realized after I ordered that it might’ve been a little—”

“Pushy?” Sam finished for him with a little smirk. At least he wasn’t _really_ mad.

“Yeah, my bad,” he tried.

“No worries, man. It was nice of you.” There was a long silence before Sam spoke again. “So, I um—I wanted to talk to you about this whole Captain America thing and about… me and I dunno—I just—” 

He was struggling. Why did Sam feel like he couldn’t talk to him? “It’s ok,” he said softly. “Just… talk to me.”

“I’m… gay,” Sam said, obviously relieved.

Bucky smiled. The dramatic confession was cute but unnecessary. Sam knew about his talk with Steve. “Ok. Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. Seems like the kinda thing friends would know about each other these days.”

“Are we friends though Barnes?” Sam asked. “We hardly ever talk.

“Well, I’d like to change that,” Bucky offered, it was kind of ridiculous that they knew next to nothing about each other despite living together. “if that’s alright with you.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but the waitress arrived with their food at that moment so, he waited until she was out of earshot to respond. “I think that would be nice… and overdue.” He picked up chopsticks and popped a piece of sushi in his mouth. 

Bucky watched his jaw work until he realized he was staring and quickly began to stuff his face full of sashimi.

“So,” Sam folded his hands on the table like an attentive student. “Tell me about yourself, Barnes.”

“Well,” he swallowed some food, “what d'you wanna know?”

“Let’s start with your family,” Sam suggested.

“Uh ok. Well, I’m a middle child, I had a big sister and a little sister, Sandy, and Becca. My dad died in the war—”

“World War I?” Sam asked, intrigued. 

“Yeah. He knocked up my mom, then got shipped off. Never even met him.”

Sam looked a little sad at that. “I’m sorry, man. My dad passed in the Gulf War, just before he was gonna retire.”

“Well, I never met him so I can’t miss him, right?” Bucky tried. Sam offered a sad little smirk.

“Anyway,” he continued, “my little sister’s dad was alright, but he died from the flu before I got shipped out.”

“What about your sisters?” Sam asked hopefully. “They have kids? You might have some family out there.”

“I dunno to tell you the truth, I been kinda terrified to look into it. Maybe one day though.”

Sam nodded sympathetically. “I get it. When you’re ready, let me know. Maybe I can… help or y’know,” Sam shrugged. 

It warmed Bucky’s heart that Sam had offered to help “or y’know,” he couldn’t fight the smile that was creeping onto his lips at the sentiment, but maybe it was time to change the subject to something more pleasant. Although, he didn’t have much material for that. Luckily, Sam had taken the hint.

“So, when did you meet Steve?” he asked. The saint. 

“I met Stevie in first grade. He was so tiny and getting picked on for it. Not that he made it easy for himself. I was big for my age so I kinda tossed my weight around to protect him. That was pretty much our whole childhood honestly.”

Sam laughed and Bucky had to wonder why he was suddenly appreciating the sound. He’d heard Sam laugh before, after all. 

“So, then I went off to war, got captured, and Captain America saved me… the rest is history, I guess.”

“Ok,” Sam nodded. “Good history lesson. Now, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Bucky replied through a mouthful of sticky rice.

“Does my sexuality bother you?”

Bucky’s chewing slowed and he could tell from the look in Sam’s eye that his face was doing that thing Steve had warned him about.

“I don’t care if you don’t approve, I’m no stranger to that, but I’d rather not live with a Homophobe if I can avoid it,” Sam stated without missing a beat.

“Well,” Bucky took a breath and sip of his coke. “I uh—I don’t have a problem with it if that’s what you’re asking. Everyone should be able to love who they love.”

Sam hummed indistinctly and Bucky felt the sudden need to word vomit all over him to prove he wasn’t some kind of a closed-mined jerk. Unfortunately, that would prove Steve right and God forbid that ever happen. Instead, he went for shock and awe:

“I’d be a hypocrite anyway,” he shrugged, knowing the reaction his confession would cause. Coming out to Sam wasn’t the initial plan, but it would probably put him more at ease around Bucky. Sam’s head snapped up and immediately and he wished he could fold himself into a paper airplane and fly into the nearest dumpster. 

Sam’s face quickly softened from shock to fascination as he prompted, “Go on,” much to Bucky’s dismay. 

He cleared his throat. “I’ve uh—"

“Fucked a man?” Sam blurted and Bucky nearly swallowed his tongue.

“No, I—I never got that… far. I uh… I’ve kissed a guy before. Kinda freaked out about it after. That was before the war. I told Steve about it, thinking he’d be grossed out but he was really cool about it and uh during the war, I let a guy uh—” he covered a mumble with a cough, but Sam must have figured out what he meant because he was chuckling softly.

“You got some head,” Sam chuckled softly, “you can say it, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky nodded. The waitress came by to refill their glasses and Bucky thanked her in more ways than one. He hadn’t planned to come out to Sam in this conversation. He wasn’t even 100% sure about his sexuality himself. 

“Wow. Bisexual,” Sam concluded. “I was not expecting that.”

“I uh—I guess you could say that, yeah,” Bucky agreed halfheartedly. “I never really thought about it before. I couldn’t really explore those feelings back in the day.”

“Steve had me convinced you were some kinda ladies’ man,” Sam prodded. 

_Thanks a lot, Steve._ “I mean, not to brag—”

“You can brag,” Sam smirked, looking up at Bucky through his lashes.

If Sam had ever looked at him like that before, Bucky couldn’t be sure, but _Christ_ was it ever disarming.

“I mean, I had a slick mouth,” James shrugged. “I was a charmer.”

“I could see that,” Sam said, nodding. “I saw your trading card at Steve’s. You had a whole bad boy James Dean thing goin’ on.”

Bucky put another piece of spicy California roll in his mouth, hopefully, his chewing would take some attention away from the blush that was creeping up his neck. 

“Well, I guess Steve was right, we do have a lot in common,” Sam said, “Don’t ever tell him I said that by the way.” Bucky smiled in reply. Those were his sentiments exactly. “Now, tell me about this so-called plan of yours to shield me from bigotry.”

Bucky ran down the rough plan that he and Pepper had come up with as best he could. Sam had asked a few questions and thanks to Pepper, Bucky had answers for most of them. They ate their sushi and they drank too much sake. 

By 8 pm, Sam was swaying a bit from the Sake so Bucky, who’d walked to the restaurant from work, offered to drive Sam’s car home.

“You’re a good dude, Barnes,” Sam muttered as he sank into the passenger seat, “but if you crash my shit, I’ll kill you.”

“I promise not to crash your car, only if you stop callin’ me Barnes,” Bucky countered, smirking. “Makes me feel like I’m back in the Army”

“Fair,” Sam relented, “I ain’t callin’ you Bucky though.”

“You could call me James,” Bucky suggested. “I mean, no one calls me that, but—” 

“Sounds like I’m special, then,” Sam murmured into the bottled water Bucky had given him. He curled up to lean his head against the door, cradling the bottle like a baby and Bucky was caught off guard by just how soft and sweet he looked.

 _You sure are, baby_ , he responded internally, allowing himself to relish the strange fluttering feeling in his chest before abruptly casting it aside. The Winter Soldier had always had a mission and now Bucky had a new mission; protect Sam Wilson at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad you guys are enjoying this fic so far, it definitely inspires me to keep going. Please keep the kudos and comments coming, they give me life. I’m trying to incorporate undertones of Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan’s actual friendship into this story because I love them together. If you’ve ever seen their interviews, you know they’re absolutely hilarious and they clearly love each other. As of right now, I’ll be updating sporadically because consistency is a foreign concept. Eventually, I hope to adopt some semblance of a schedule so please bear with me. 
> 
> DMV = D.C./Maryland/Virginia  
> SECDEF = Secretary of Defense  
> SECNAV = Secretary of the Navy


	3. Shave and a Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, October 6th 2023. 
> 
> The Avengers, Stark Industries, Wakanda, SHIELD, and SWORD come together to strategize and Bucky gets a makeover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little slow but necessary. Sorry in advance. I decided to add dates too, keeps me organized.

Sam went through the rest of the work week on autopilot, anxiously anticipating the strategy meeting. No doubt Pepper would have her team working overtime to make this a seamless endeavor. Ever since Tony’s death, she’d become much more invested in the Avengers. She even suited up from time to time. 

Wake up, work out, work, dinner with James, maybe a movie, then bed. That was his week. They had just started on the Indiana Jones series and he found James’ questions and commentary oddly amusing. Shuri had done a done a great job getting him caught up on world history and current events, but he was still behind in certain cultural aspects. Sam felt it was his responsibility to get his enemy turned roommate turned friend up to speed. It didn’t hurt that James looked absolutely striking in a dark room lit solely by the television. That revelation had been both off-putting and electrifying even though he could do nothing about it. At least he could enjoy the scenery. 

He was shocked on Thursday when James offered to keep him company on his daily run. Especially since he was opposite of a morning person. He usually slept until the absolute last minute every morning then had to rush around like a headless chicken just to get to work (barely) on time. How he managed to look so put together every day was beyond Sam’s comprehension. Sam was the complete opposite. He hated rushing, so he got up extra early just so he could go for a run and take his time.

James didn’t need to work out thanks to the serum, but he must’ve taken pity on Sam that morning because he only ran fast enough to match Sam’s speed, unlike another super soldier. 

Sam sighed as he secured his seat belt. The meeting was at noon and they only had 15 minutes to get to the Triskelion thanks to James taking an extra five minutes to get his work finished before picking Sam up from his office. He could have rode with Jim, but the colonel wasn’t half as nice to look at during a car ride.

At least he didn’t have to go back to work. After the meeting, he could kick his weekend off right with some Netflix and that bottle of Lambrusco in the cooler. He’d never seen James drink wine, but perhaps he could convince the other man to partake. 

“You ok?” James asked as he pulled out of the parking space, “nervous?”

“About a meeting?” Sam chuckled. He was a little nervous.

“I just meant, are you gonna… tell everyone?”

 _Oh, that’s too cute,_ Sam thought to himself. “I came out when I was 17. Had to hide it in Army so, once I separated, I made a conscious effort to not hide anymore. I didn’t even hide it from you, really,” he tried, glancing over at James who was staring ahead in at the road like it had spit in his coffee, clenching his jaw, and God, that profile. “You just have shitty gay-dar,” he said hoping to lighten the mood.

“They already know, don’t they?” James asked.

“Well…”

James stopped at a red light and turned to him, “Christ, Sam, am I the only who didn’t know?” 

“No. Uh, Carol just kinda… guessed, I mean the woman has a sixth sense,” he shrugged. “Pepper insinuated that she knew a while back, which makes sense ‘cause Tony knew, that’s how Rhodes knows. Hill cyber-stalked me after the whole triple helicarrier cluster fuck so, she and Fury already know— What? Greenlight, man.”

James sighed and pressed the gas without a word.

Ok, now he felt like shit. James was clearly upset with Sam’s lack of trust in him. “Hey,” he tried. “I’m sorry man. We’ve been through a lot and… I shoulda trusted you. That’s my bad.”

“No, I get it. I’m from a time that was particularly shitty for… anyone, really, who wasn’t white, straight, and male—I understand.” He stopped at another red light but didn’t bother meeting Sam’s eyes this time. “I just hope you trust me a little more... now.”

Sam smiled and reached over, placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. It was awkward in the confined space of his Audi coupe, but he needed James to know that he meant what he was about to say. “I do,” he said softly, watching the corner of James’ lip curl into a half-smile. 

“Gay-dar. I get it. Like radar, that’s cute,” he laughed after a moment. 

They arrived at the new Triskelion just in the nick of time and took the elevator up to the conference room where the meeting was being held. Sam was shocked to find the room empty--aside from one Maria Hill who was furiously texting by the door.

“Wilson. Barnes,” Hill greeted them as they entered. 

“Hey,” Sam nodded, and James gave a small wave.

Seconds later, people began filing in, talking and schmoozing. Hugs and kisses all around. Pepper and two people he recognized from SI’s PR team—Aimee and Joseph—entered last. 

Aimee was a petite Asian woman with a severe bob haircut and ruffled blouse that was probably couture or something. Joseph was a tall, Hispanic man with hazelnut skin and one of those edgy haircuts that probably took a lot of work despite it currently looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. They were both young though and Sam felt a little better about their input. Fresh ideas were needed for this venture.

The huge conference room looked almost empty. Only Maria, Pepper and her team, Carol, Jim, Hope, and Shuri were present and they were scattered around the massive oval-shaped table. 

Shuri walked up to Sam and embraced him.

“I have a surprise for you,” she whispered as they hugged, beaming ear to ear.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled back at her. "How long are you staying?" Shuri was an absolute joy to be around. 

"Only a few days. I'm needed back in Oakland. Are you taking care of my favorite broken white boy?" She asked loud enough for James to hear. They shared a laugh and hugged before she walked off to speak with Pepper.

Everyone eventually found a seat, James to his immediate left, and Pepper called the meeting to order, “Ok, everyone. We have a lot to go through. This is Aimee, head of Avengers PR, and Joe here, will be handling personal image and branding for both Wilson and Barnes. Pepper took her seat and Aimee took the lead.

“First, and foremost, Mr. Wilson,” she addressed him and everyone turned to look in his direction, “will you be taking up the mantle of Captain America?”

“Uh yeah,” he answered, feeling a bit nervous under her serious gaze.

“Great,” she clapped. “Now, I’ve taken Mr. Barnes’ plan and expanded it a bit. Friday, if you will.” A screen lit up behind her. “Here’s where we start—”

The meeting was long as hell, about two hours too long, but admittedly productive. It was decided that Sam would be announced as the new Captain America at the upcoming Stark Foundation Gala at the end of the month. Pepper, who had gained unprecedented popularity following Tony’s death, would deliver the announcement, highlighting in her speech that this was Steve Rogers’ dying wish (only a select few knew that he was still alive for obvious reasons). Both he and James would be dressed for the gala by a designer of her and Joseph's choosing.

The next step was a televised press conference. He and James would field both pre-approved and a few random questions from vetted journalists. Of course, they would have some media coaching beforehand. 

The highlight of the meeting was Shuri’s presentation of his and James’ new suits. The young genius had really outdone herself. His suit was blue and white with a touch of red and a white star on the chest similar to the design of Steve’s stealth suit. Every inch that wasn’t vibranium armor, was vibranium weave, down to the boots and gloves. His wings were now vibranium and almost completely red, which he thought would be too flashy, but Joe had assured them it was “right on brand,” whatever the hell that meant. 

James’ suit was a lot more low-key, black and navy vibranium weave with one arm missing to show off a truly gorgeous prosthetic enhancement that Shuri presented him with. It was silver in color, like his Hyrda arm, but instead of a red star, it bore white star within a blue circle outlined in red. Her original design was detachable, so she was able to replace his old arm with the new one right there in the conference room with little fuss. Sam tried not to stare at James’ bare chest when he disrobed.

Both their new suits were similar to T’Chala’s in that they absorbed and re-disbursed kinetic energy, which would come in handy since Sam was just a regular baseline human at the end of the day. They both received repulsor guns from Hope, and other tech including an oxygen mask for high-altitude flights from Bruce and communicators with unlimited range from Shuri.

When they got to the ‘image’ portion of the meeting, James was the focus.

“You, Mr. Barnes, are gonna have to start shaving again. No more of this perpetual 5 o’clock shadow business,” Joe said with a wave of his hand.

“But I—I haven’t shaved with a razor since the war,” James explained and Sam chuckled at the sheer panic in his eyes.

“We’re also cutting your hair,” Joe went on. “We need you to look—” he gestured in James’ general direction, “cleaner.”

“The man is wearin’ J. Crew. How much cleaner can he get?” Jim commented, obviously bored. Almost everyone in the room, including Sam, had a snicker at James’ expense. To his credit, he did try his best not to look like he’d just died inside.

“Quite, actually,” Joe explained. “The bad boy look is great, but he’s testing a little _too_ bad. The Winter Soldier reputation is enough, so the image needs to be reined in or he’ll seem too much like a loose cannon. Clean shave, shorter hair.”

"Hold up," Sam spoke up when his brain caught up with what Joe had just said. "He's keeping his... slave name?"

"His what now?" Jim asked, finally looking up from his phone.

"His--the Winter Soldier--we're keeping that?" Sam stammered.

"Hey," James tapped him on the shoulder, "that was my call, ok. Don't worry about it," he murmured, smiling softly.

 _Don't worry about it?_ How could he not? The public would never accept him if he kept that moniker. It had too much blood on it.

“What about a mustache?” James asked Joe, effectively changing the subject and Sam tried to push the codename thing to the back of his mind.

Joe raised an eyebrow as if to say “really?” and James deflated. Sam took pity on him pat him on the shoulder.

“So, you want him to look like the pictures from the war,” Carol asked. 

“Yes. That look tested _extremely_ well,” Joe nodded. 

“It’s a good look,” Hope shrugged.

 _That, it is,_ Sam thought, remembering the trading card he’d seen at Steve’s. _Imagine coming home to that every night,_ the little devil on his shoulder whispered.

“What about Sam?” Pepper asked.

“Mr. Wilson will just need to shave his beard off, nothing too extensive,” Joe shrugged.

“Nothin’ too extensive?” Sam mocked. “It took me months to perfect this thing.” He rubbed at his jaw longingly, already missing his facial hair. 

“Well, it goes. _You_ get to keep a mustache, though,” Joe added facetiously. “Your appointment is at 4. Mr. Barnes, yours is at 4:45.”

“Today?” Sam and James asked in unison.

“Today,” Joseph confirmed. “We don’t want it to look like the change was orchestrated.”

“Even though it was,” James muttered.

“Moving on to other matters,” Aimee announced. “After the press conference, you’ll both have photoshoots and interviews with Vogue, People, Time, and Vanity Fair. The Avengers and the Ultimates will have a spread in Rolling Stone. Sam, you’ll have shoots with Essence and Ebony along with Rhodes, Brashear, and Rambaeu; a solo with Men’s Health and another with Out Magazine in June for LGBTQ+ Pride Month.”

“Me and Hilde are on the July cover,” Carol added proudly.

“Nine photoshoots!?” Sam asked, stunned and already a little overwhelmed, “I’m tired already.”

“Uh, Aimee,” Jim raised his hand to get her attention, “why am I doing a photoshoot?”

“Well, the public loves you, Colonel. The more we can associate you or Mrs. Stark with Sam, the better. And yes, you will be wearing the armor," she smiled.

Jim let his head fall back and let out a dramatic groan.

“I’m still stuck on this nine photoshoots thing,” Sam protested.

“It sounds like a lot,” said Aimee, “but they’ll be spaced out accordingly. Between the photos, interviews, and bad guys you’ll be slaying on a regular basis, we’ll flood the internet. People will come to accept you as Captain America faster if they see your image constantly. After the initial media flood, well taper it off, then ramp it up for June and NYC Pride.”

James cleared his throat before asking, “Will I be doing anything for Pride?” Sam almost got whiplash from turning his head so fast. Was this fool about to out himself?

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable appearing at Pride, Mr. Barnes, but your support would definitely be a plus,” Amiee nodded, impressed. "Allies are always great press."

“Well,” James started to explain and Sam kicked his leg under the table. Pepper noticed because of course, she did. “it wouldn’t exactly—I wouldn’t be there _just_ for... support,” James sputtered.

Sam quietly wondered if all men born in the early 20th century were self-sacrificing idiots. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered quiet enough for only James to hear. The other man only smiled nervously and half-shrugged in reply.

“Oh, please tell me you’re gay too,” Carol gushed, almost too happily. “That’d almost make long-ass meeting worth it.” She shot Sam a subtle eyebrow waggle which he ignored.

“Well I’m not _not_ gay,” he cleared his throat again.

“Bi?” Carol asked excitedly. James nodded.

“That…is the best thing I’ve heard all week,” she grinned. 

“Keep it in your pants, Danvers,” Jim muttered and _that_ made Sam chuckle.

“This actually works to our advantage,” Aimee noted, tapping furiously on her StarkPad. Sam could practically see the wheels in her head spinning. “We’ll you get on that Out cover, Barnes. We’ll make that happen. Pride is _definitely_ a-go and I want you both to make speeches.”

Sam sighed and James groaned.

***

For a meeting, the whole ordeal had been kinda draining, especially with the whole coming out thing. He certainly hadn’t planned to do that.

Bucky looked down at his shiny new arm. Shuri had improved on her original design. It was lighter and whatever she’d done to the sensors, his sense of touch was nearly the same as his flesh hand. He still got to keep the old one, and she’d given him instructions on removal, installation, and maintenance. 

What had really thrown him for a loop was this damn haircut. He’d have to learn to shave with a razor again too. He could always ask Sam to help him out. Bucky envisioned himself sitting on the edge of his bathtub while Sam gently cradled his chin. Chestnut eyes laser-focused on him and only him— _Christ_ , what the hell was his problem? Sam barely trusted him and here he was fantasizing about the guy shaving him. _Get it together, Barnes!_

Speaking of Sam, he was by the door, speaking in hushed tones with Pepper, who ended the conversation with a sweet smile and a one-armed embrace. She waved in Bucky’s direction before departing, leaving he and Sam alone in the conference room.

 _Be cool,_ he thought to himself. _Like you weren’t just imagining some weirdly erotic shaving session with your roommate who trusts you about as far as he can throw you._

“You uh—wanna get something to eat before this appointment?” he tried.

Sam glanced at his watch. “I could eat.”

They had burgers at Five Guys, one of Sam’s favorites, and they talked. Well, Sam mostly talked, Bucky listened, which he didn’t mind at all. Honestly, he could listen to Sam talk all day.

Sam talked about his ex, Reilly, whom he’d met in the Air Force. Apparently, he was killed on a Falcon mission not long after the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy had been abolished. 

“Were you in love?” Bucky asked around some fries.

Sam swallowed whatever was in his mouth before answering, “Yeah. Yeah, we were. It was nice for a while, after DADT. We got engaged and everything. No one got down on one knee or anything like that. It was just a conversation, then we went and picked out the rings on a whim.” He tried to smile but the sadness in his eyes was palpable. “You ever been in love, James?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nope,” he answered too quickly. It was the truth though. He’d never even liked anyone enough to sleep with them more than a couple of times. 

“You’ll find someone,” Sam assured him as if it was the simplest thing ever. 

They finished their late lunch in companionable silence, then Sam drove them to Beau, a swanky salon in an affluent part of town that was so clean you could eat off the sidewalk. The place looked more like a museum than a barbershop. There was even a fountain in the waiting area.

Bucky watched as the barber, an older man with suspenders and an ostentatious mustache named Vince, shaved Sam’s face with a straight razor, leaving him a line of hair above his lip. The whole ordeal was like watching someone create a work of art. Bucky didn’t think people even did the whole thing with the warm shave cream and the hot towel anymore. Sam nodded off twice during the process.

“You’re next, James,” Vince threatened. 

When he sat down in the chair, Vincent wasted no time chopping his entire bun off in a flick of his wrist and Bucky whimpered as it fell silently to the floor. Sam chided him for being a drama queen.

***

Sam was fine. He was _perfectly_ fine. _Hiding in a bathroom was a perfectly rational response to James’ hot new haircut._ Sure. It was fine.

He splashed some cool water on his face and looked up at his reflection in the mirror, thankful the shop had private bathrooms. A knock at the door made him jump.

“Hey, Sam, you ok in there?” That was James’ concerned voice.

“Uh, yeah—I just had to pee,” he grimaced at the terrible lie.

“You almost done? I gotta go. Been sittin’ for a while.”

“Yeah. Gimme a sec!” Sam took a breath and dried his face and hands with a paper towel. He put his hand on the door handle and took another cleansing breath. “You got this,” he muttered to himself before swinging the door open.

There he was: 6"1', 200 pounds of dreamy super soldier with a face as smooth as a baby’s ass. To add insult to injury, Vince had styled his hair in some kind of old school swoop thing that resembled a young Marlon Brando. All he needed was a black leather jacket and a cigarette hanging from his lip. 

Sam took a gulp of nothing and tried to think of something less sexy than the unfairly gorgeous man standing a couple feet away.

“You don’t like it,” James said, disappointed, shaking Sam out of his lust-filled trance. 

“What? No—”

“It doesn’t look like me, I know,” he pushed past Sam to look in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix it but it was somehow going right back into place. 

“It looks nice, James. Like, really, really great,” he rambled.

“Y’think?” James looked over at him, clearly seeking his endorsement.

“You look like you did on the trading card. It’s… a good look,” he echoed Hope’s earlier sentiment. 

“Gee, thanks, Sam,” James said, blushing.

Just kill me now, he thought because that was almost too cute for words.

“Uh, Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to piss, can you uh—”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. My bad, man,” Sam apologized as he backed out of the bathroom and shut the door.

Sam needed to work out. That always helped with… tension. A good, strenuous workout would take his mind off James’ perfect hair and all the... feelings it was making him feel. He offered to drive and he sped all the way home as James clung to the ‘oh shit bar’ for dear life.

When they reached the condo, he made a beeline for his bedroom where he stripped off his clothes and dug through a basket of clean clothes he would probably never fold for some fitness gear. He settled on a pair of too-tight shorts and an old shirt that he’d cut into a tank top. It wasn’t even really a tank, the arm holes were so long and stretched out you could see straight through to the other side. He pulled on his sneakers and stormed through the open-concept apartment up to the loft where the gym was, passing James without meeting his eyes.

“I was gonna order Chinese,” James called after him, “you want the ususal?”

“Uh huh. Thanks,” he replied, shoving his hands into a pair of worn weightlifting gloves. 

Sam went straight for the squat bar without stretching, grunting at the strain of 400 pounds. His thighs burned as he stood. He did that over and over until he finished five sets. He rested for a few seconds before moving on to the hip adductor machine. 

“You ok, Sam?” James asked from behind him. 

“Fine,” he gritted out.

“Need a workout buddy?” he asked, and for a moment it sounded… suggestive, almost flirty, but that couldn’t be right. _Right?_

“You don’t even need exercise,” Sam pointed out. Thank god that the machine he was using faced away from the staircase so he wouldn’t have to look at James and his smooth face and his pretty ass hair.

“I could spot you,” James offered and Sam could tell he was coming closer.

“I’m doin’ legs,” Sam said curtly.

“Of course you are,” said James. Sam could hear the smile in his voice. “It really shows… you got the best thighs I’ve ever seen.” 

Sam wanted nothing more than to swan dive off the goddamned loft. 

“That’s why I wear speedos at the beach, buddy,” he tried to joke but his throat was too dry and James was still inching closer. 

“Oh, you left this downstairs,” James said as he placed Sam’s red water bottle at his feet. Christ, could he read minds too? So not fair.

“Thanks,” Sam picked up the bottle and guzzled the water like he was dying of thirst. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” James said after a moment. “Food’ll be here soon.” Then he headed back down the steps.

“What the fuck,” Sam muttered to himself when he was alone again. Because, _seriously, what the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn’t clear, The Avengers told the public that Steve died in the battle with Thanos because who wants to explain time travel to the public. He’s been hiding out in Tony and Pepper’s old cabin and his staff doesn’t even know who he really is. Also, Hilde is Brunnhilde’s (the Valkyrie) nickname.


	4. Cosmo (and Captain Marvel) Taught Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 6 - October 7
> 
> Bucky flirts and Sam makes pancakes. Also, Carol Danvers gives good advice.

Bucky needed help. Like, from a certified professional who could analyze these fucked up feelings he was feeling. First, he’d thrown himself on a grenade (Stevie would be proud) by outing himself for no reason. _Who does that? Seriously._ Then, he crept up on Sam like a certified creeper while the man was working out. No wonder Sam had been so short with him. Bucky was going about this all wrong, whatever the hell _this_ was.

Earlier at dinner, Sam had scarfed down his food without a word, then bolted off to his room like a man on fire. Clearly, he was freaked out. Bucky had freaked him out. 

Back in the day, he would pay a dame a compliment, buy her a drink if they were at a bar, flash his pretty blue eyes (thier words, not his), maybe flip his hair, and they’d swoon. Besides the obvious difference of Sam being a man, he’d been a lot more confident back then and confidence was everything.

One good thing about the future, though; the internet. Once Shuri introduced him to the web back in Wakanda, he’d become kind of addicted. He had all the social media accounts of a regular millennial, and he googled literally _everything._

After a shower, he flopped down on his unmade bed and scrolled through Instagram. Pepper had posted a picture of Morgan and Peter in the garage at the cabin, smiling ear to ear. There was a selfie of Cassie and Hope, with Scott photobombing in the background. Shuri posted a picture of a Venti pumpkin spice latte from Wakanda’s first Starbucks with the caption, _“Where have you been all my life? (purple heart emoji)”_

He liked the pictures, then switched over to SnapChat where Sam had posted a Snap a few hours prior. He was at the barbershop just after his appointment, wearing mirrored aviators and a fake scowl. _“New look, no filter,”_ was the caption. 

Bucky wanted to comment something witty, but he was so damn anxious now and he couldn’t get out of his head. Maybe he wasn’t Sam’s type? Maybe Sam just didn’t see him in that way. _Holy shit._ Had he been friend-zoned? God, that would suck. If only there was a way to know for sure.

He could always try to flirt with Sam, gauge his interest. Though, he wasn’t exactly confident in his flirting ability anymore. 

He could text him. Texting would be less awkward. 

_Oooh, Google._ Why not? He googled everything else.

When he typed _how to flirt with a guy over text_ into the search bar, an article from Cosmopolitan with that exact title, popped up. He clicked and read:

_“Text messaging is a great way to flirt with your guy. Flirt texting can be done with someone you are just getting to know, a guy you are developing a relationship with, or a long-term partner to add some fun to your relationship.”_

Great. Just what he was looking for. It was still early, Sam couldn’t possibly be asleep yet. If he felt confident enough after reading this list, he might put it to the test. He shoved a pillow behind his back and settled in. 

_“Step 1 – Open the conversation with something a little romantic or sexy to see if he’s interested.”_

_Well, that was vague,_ he thought sullenly. Now he’d have to google how to be sexy and/or romantic. 

He could complement Sam on his squats. Or his ass, more directly. Sam was particularly proud of both and rightfully so. 400lbs was a lot for any baseline human. Luckily, number two on the list was _“Send a flirty compliment.”_ Great. He decided to open up with the customary greeting:

Bucky: You up?

He held his breath as those three dreaded dots appeared and disappeared, then appeared again.

Sam: Yeah. What’s up?

_Dammit. What’s step 3?_

_“Text at night.” Ok, check._

_“Step 4: Be yourself.” Not helpful in the least._

Sam: You there?

_Fuck fuck fuck!_

Bucky: I’m here…Just wanted to say I enjoyed the show earlier.

In a perfect world, Sam would ask, “What show is that?” and he’d reply, “Your squats earlier. Great form (winking emoji)” Sam would be flattered and respond with something like, “Glad you enjoyed it (blushing emoji).”

Unfortunately, this world was far from perfect.

Sam: Am I supposed to know wtf you’re talking about?

_Shit._

By all accounts, he probably should have aborted this mission, but Bucky’s best friend was Steve Rogers, so he knew a little something about blind determination. He typed out his response and held his breath as he pressed send.

Bucky: I’m referring to you, doing your squats up there on the loft.

_Ok, moment of truth._

Sam: I should charge you a fee. No free shows ;-)

 _Score!_ He couldn’t have hoped for a better response. He even got a winking emoji.

Bucky: For your ass, name the price

Sam: Guys who compliment my ass usually buy me a drink first. I thought you old-timey guys were all chivalrous and whatnot.

Bucky: I’m told chivalry is dead

Sam: Lol you’re not wrong

Bucky: How about a movie? I’ll even buy you dinner to go with that drink. 

Sam: … Ok

Bucky blinked at the screen. Had Sam just agreed to go out with him?

Bucky: Tomorrow?

Sam: Pick me up at 5

Bucky: 5? Didn’t know you were also 100 years old

Sam: I’m no spring chicken. We can do the movie first.

Bucky: I’ll bring flowers

Buck’s cheeks were starting to throb and he realized he’d been ginning for a while. He schooled his face (as if Sam was watching) and awaited a reply.

Sam: You better take me somewhere nice

Bucky: Wear somethin’ tight and I just might.

Sam: (laughing emoji) why are you like this? 

Bucky: Go to sleep Captain America

Sam: You first White Wolf

Bucky: No one’s called me that since Wakanda

Sam: Well I’d rather call you that than Bucky

Bucky: (SMH emoji) I’ll get you to call me Bucky

Sam: In your dreams

_Well, yeah, obviously._

Bucky: Goodnight Sam.

Sam: Goodnight James

Seeing this as an absolute win, Bucky put his phone on the charger and turned off his lamp, repositioned his pillows, and snuggled into bed with a smirk on his face, excited for what tomorrow would bring.

***

7 October  
Even though it was Saturday, Sam rose with the sun and went for his usual run. He would probably never be able to sleep past 6am, thanks to his military training.

As he ran, his thoughts wandered back to the night before and that random text from James. He’d flirted back of course, but only because he enjoyed a good flirt as much as the next guy. It was all in good fun. Right?

After a shower, he sat down on his bed and re-read the messages. 

_For your ass, name the price_

It took him a split second to realize he was smiling at his phone.

Usually, Sam was perceptive, almost to the point of clairvoyance, but James was a bit of a conundrum now that they were working on their friendship. 

It was pretty bold of James to ask him out on this non-date (because it was absolutely NOT a date). He could have easily shut him down, but to be honest, Sam was intrigued. He’d watched James’ personality shift over their short acquaintance and although they weren’t exactly BFFs, he’d had noticed the change in James’ confidence since Wakanda. Add that to the new, dreamy haircut and Sam would be smitten if—well, he didn’t really have a reason _not_ to be smitten, did he? James was certainly his type, and he was attracted to men so it wasn’t a complete impossibility.

 _Nope. No. Uh uh._ Sam could not bark up that tree. It would be wrong. Unethical even. James had been brainwashed and tortured and probably worse for the better part of a century, and he was just getting his mind back in order. The last thing he needed was a full-blown relationship, which was the only thing Sam was interested in at the moment. The hook-ups were getting old and so was he. He was ready to have a boyfriend again. He wanted someone by his side to share this new chapter of his life.

James Buchannan Barnes wasn’t anywhere near ready for that kind of commitment. If anything, James should be out there hooking up with randos (safely, of course) and exploring his options. He definitely wouldn’t have any trouble in that department. As soon as he put himself out there, he’d probably have men and women lined up around the block just to get a piece.

 _Breakfast._ That’s what Sam needed. Clearly, he was just hungry and delirious. He had a craving for pancakes, but he hated eating out alone and James was sure to be knocked out for at the next two hours at least. His mother’s recipe was amazing, but she probably wasn’t up yet and he knew better than to wake her so, Pinterest to the rescue. 

After putting on some boxer briefs and basketball shorts, he promptly fell down a rabbit hole of breakfast casseroles and artisanal egg sandwiches before coming across a pancake recipe that they, shockingly enough, had all the ingredients for. They almost never cooked so the fact that there was self-rising flour in the pantry was an absolute miracle. They always had eggs in the fridge, it was just about the only thing they both cooked regularly, salt and sugar were always around, and after he learned he could substitute buttermilk for whole milk and a splash of white vinegar, he had everything he needed to get started. But first, coffee. 

He put on some music—a 90’s R&B playlist—and proceeded to gyrate and sway as he threw together the batter. Soon the whole apartment was filled with the smells of coffee and buttermilk pancakes and the sounds of TLC. 

Sam spun around, tossed the spatula in the air and caught it behind his back, then sang into it like a microphone with his eyes pressed shut. 

_“Don’t go chasin’ waterfalls_  
Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to  
I know that you’re gonna have it your way or nothin’ at all  
But I think you’re—”

_“HOLY FUCK!”_

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened his eyes to find James leaning on the kitchen island with that damn smirk on his face and an adorably chaotic case of bedhead.

The man was shirtless, which wasn’t particularly unusual, but when he stood straight up, _Jesus Christ on a cracker,_ he was obviously going commando under a pair of loose, lounge pants that were too thin and barely clung to his hips. If Sam didn’t know any better, he might assume his fellow Avenger was trying to seduce him but, of course, Sam knew better.

“No Beyoncé today?” James asked slyly as he sauntered over to the coffee maker and poured some coffee into his Spider-Man mug.

“Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again,” Sam tried and failed to sound angry while pouring some batter into the skillet.

“Sorry,” James smiled, “force of habit. I was an assassin, y’know.” He walked passed Sam to the fridge, grabbed the creamer and poured way too much into his coffee before returning it to the fridge and closing it.

Sam took a deep breath and willed himself to not look anywhere below James’ neck, though that view wasn’t exactly unappealing either.

“Why are you half-naked in my kitchen, Winterfell?” Sam asked as he flipped a pancake.

“You’re not wearing a shirt either. I thought that was the dress code,” James pointed out, making his way to a barstool on the opposite side of the island.

 _Oh, right._ “Touché.”

“I thought you said no more free shows, Cap,” James pointed out. “I think this,” he gestured to Sam’s exposed upper body, “would be classified as a show.”

Sam snickered and shook his head. _Ok, so we’re doin’ this again._ “Just tryna get my dinner upgraded to a place with white table cloths.”

Sam knew it was a stretch but he swore he actually _felt_ James’ eyes scan his body from behind. “You just might get your wish, doll,” the other man murmured.

Sam felt a little flutter in his chest at the nickname, but he remained a picture of composure. “What are you doin’, man?” he huffed.

“Just watchin’. Don’t think you’ve ever cooked anything but scrambled eggs on this stove.”

“I mean, the—the flirting, the _dinner and a movie_ thing we’re doing tonight. What’s your angle here?” Sam questioned.

James looked up at him over the red and black mug. “Just tryna to get to know you, Sam. That’s all,” the super soldier murmured.

Sam couldn’t help but think that was _not_ all. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

James smiled and shrugged as they locked eyes for what felt like far too long. When had his eyes changed color? They were usually a subdued grey-blue, but now they looked like the deepest, bluest fjord he’d ever seen. Sam was suddenly ready for a very cold swim.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Pancake’s burnin’.”

“Shit!” Sam turned back to the stove, thankful for the distraction, and tossed the burnt pancake in the trash. “Well that was the last one so, you ready to eat?”

“Always.”

Sam stacked four pancakes on a plate for him. “Shit, we don’t have syrup, do we?”

“Don’t see why we would,” James laughed. “Wait, we got jelly, right?”

“I think—”

But James was already off his stool and heading for the fridge. He retrieved the grape jelly and a spoon and unscrewed the top. “Try it,” he prompted, holding the jar out to Sam.

“You want me to put grape jelly on my pancakes? What kinda Great Depression shit—”

“Just try it, man. It tastes good,” he promised.

Sam pulled a face and James rolled his eyes. “Fine. Eat dry pancakes, your choice.” He sauntered back around to his side of the island and scooped two heaping spoonfuls of jelly onto his pancakes and proceeded to hum obnoxiously while he ate.

“Ugh, fine,” Sam relented. “If this is nasty, you’re takin’ me to breakfast too.” James smirked and nodded in agreeance.

Sam placed a tentative half-teaspoon of jelly on a corner of his top pancake and spread it around a bit before cutting into it. _Ok, not bad_ “This is actually alright,” he nodded as he chewed.

“Told ya.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Ok, what’s the story, how’d you stumble upon this ghetto miracle?”

“I only ate pancakes like twice before the war—all the ingredients were too expensive back then,” he explained around his food. “Syrup was rich people shit, real hard to come by, so we’d eat ‘em with jelly. I’d never even tasted maple syrup until like, a month ago when you made me eat chicken and waffles.”

Sam smiled at the memory. He had been insistent that James try chicken and waffles. It was an act of patriotism as far as he was concerned. Bucky had a tough life, he couldn’t even imagine growing up back then, though his life probably would’ve been significantly tougher.

“I can’t _make_ you do anything, Bucky,” Sam said before he could stop himself. Luckily, James didn’t seem to notice his slip-of-the-tongue.

James shrugged, “If you say so,” he smirked and Sam hummed noncommittally.

James inhaled his four pancakes and began to clean up the kitchen. The moment Sam put the last bite in his mouth, James scooped up his plate.

“Thanks for breakfast. You’re makin’ a strong case for those white table cloths,” he winked.

Sam laughed and shook his head, “You’re really the worst. Thanks for cleaning up,” he said as he walked off to his room.

“No problem. Teamwork, right?” James called after him.

“Teamwork!” he repeated as he walked down the hall to his room.

***

Bucky floated back to his room on Cloud 9. The flirting and lack of underwear seemed to be working, even if Sam wasn’t exactly taking him seriously yet. Perhaps it was time to consult an actual person for advice instead of Google. He sat down at his desk and searched for the number he wanted and hit Video Call.

“Barnes, do you know what time it is?” Carol grumbled after fumbling around with her phone for a while. She was obviously still in bed, her eyes were barely open.

“8:45. Too early?”

“For a Saturday devoid of Earth-threatening shenanigans, yeah.”

“Sorry, I—”

“Nope, I’m up now. What do you need?” she asked, sitting up, then standing. He could make out Brunnhilde behind her, wrapped up in a comforter.

“Well, I need some advice. Some… romantic advice,” he said hesitantly.

“I’ll do my best. Shoot.”

“How do I… court, someone?

“Court? My God, you’re adorable.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really found a modern word for it. I’ve tried flirting, but I don’t think—are you… peeing?”

Carol looked completely unaffected, “You woke me up, this is my morning routine. I’m not holding my pee for you. Now, who are we flirting with?”

“It’s… just… a guy.”

“Does he flirt back at all?”

“Yeah, but I guess I’m not sure if he’s just being nice or somethin’.”

Carol put her phone on the counter and Bucky stared at her ceiling as the toilet flushed and the sink turned on and off. When she picked the phone back up, she was brushing her teeth. “So, what you gotta do,” she mumbled, “take him out or cook for him, a nice gesture like that.” She spat into the sink. “Or you could just tell him you like him. That’s the quickest solution.”

“What if… he doesn’t like me like that?”

“Well, there’s not much you can do about that.” Carol gargled some mouthwash for forever, then spat it out. “You need to make sure he’s into you, at least attracted to you—though I seriously doubt he’s not.”

“Uh—thanks,” Bucky blushed.

“So what _are_ you looking for with this guy? Relationship, casual fuck buddy, one-time thing?”

Bucky really didn’t know what he wanted from Sam. The only thing he was sure of was that there was some kind of attraction there. Physical, of course, but it was more than that too. It had been a while since he felt something even remotely like that, but he was sure there was _something_ there. Like he was caught in Sam’s gravitational pull.

“Yeah I’m actually not sure about that,” Bucky answered finally.

“Well don’t go wasting the man’s time until you know for sure. Nothing is worse than wasting your time on someone who doesn’t know what they want,” Carol explained as she sat back down on her bed.

“Morning, my love,” Brunnhilde murmured as she wrapped her arms around Carol and kissed her neck. “Oh, hello Barnes.”

He smiled at their affectionate embrace. That’s what he wanted, that right there. He was missing that closeness to another person. It had been, literally, _forever._

“Mornin’ Your Majesty,” he smiled. “God, you guys are so beautiful together.”

“I know,” Carol said smugly. “Hey, just so we’re clear, you’re talking about Sam, right?”

“Wha—?”

“Ha! I knew it! Rhodes owes me $50.”

“What the—”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Barnes. We could all feel the sexual tension in that meeting. For one, you sat right next to him when everyone else had two or three chairs between them.”

_True, but that doesn’t mean—_

“Then,” Carol continued, “you outted yourself just to take the pressure off him. You were trying to protect him.”

“I would’ve come out eventually. I really do wanna go to Pride,” he tried.

“Pride is in July, sweetheart. You had plenty of time. You felt Sam getting uncomfortable so you offered yourself up like a goddamn turkey on Thanksgiving.”

Maybe she was right, but he hadn’t really thought about it that way at the time… had he?

“I dunno,” he sighed. “I think I really like him, Carol. Like, a lot. What if he doesn’t feel the same about me?”

“Look, Barnes, just relax and be yourself ok. Don’t come on too strong, but don’t be all timid either, that’s not attractive,” she offered, unhelpfully. “There’s a grey area in there and that’s where you operate.”

“So, I should probably stop walking around the apartment like this then?” he looked down at his bare chest.

“Oh no, keep doin’ that,” Carol winked.


	5. (Not) Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than previous ones and it all takes place over the rest of October 7th.
> 
> We get a little more Carol and more Rhodey in this chapter along with his love interest, General Maria Rambeau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this chapter. Ideally, I'd like to crank out 2 chapters per month but life hit me like a damn freight train. So here's a nice long chapter for you to sink your teeth into.

7 October (Continued)

“Jim,” Maria croaked from her side of the bed. They never got to sleep in. What with his demanding job at S.I. and her being the Air Force Chief of Staff, their schedules were pretty hectic. The added fact that they had to keep their relationship a secret due to a conflict of interest only further complicated things. 

“Jim. Phone!” she said louder when he attempted to ignore her. He groaned in annoyance but the phone stopped ringing just in time.

“It was Carol. She’s gonna call back,” Maria grumbled. “Why is your phone on my side anyway?”

Jim rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “It’s too early for Carol,” he whined.

Maria hummed incredulously and handed him the phone over her shoulder just as it started to ring again.

“The fuck,” he muttered and accepted the call. “What do you want, Danvers?”

Carol added to her cruelty by chuckling at his pained voice. “You might as well gimme that $50 now, Rhodes. Those two are on a bullet train to balls deep city,” she gloated, sounding far too happy and far too awake for 9 am on a Saturday without an unwelcomed monologuing supervillain. 

“Ok, eww.”

Despite his obvious annoyance, she kept talking, “Barnes is so adorable. He actually called me to ask for advice. He said, and I quote, ‘I really like him’. Ha! Boom!”

Maria sat up laughing at her best friend and slipped out of bed. “You gonna lose that $50, babe,” she whispered. Jim reached over to grope her but she playfully swatted his hand before slinking off to the bathroom. 

“Just because he likes Sam, doesn’t mean Sam likes him. It takes two. You’re old enough to remember that song.” he pointed out. 

“It’s definitely gonna happen.”

“Keyword: gonna. As in _hasn’t happened yet._ As in _may not happen at all."_ He sat up in bed. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now. “Sam ain’t lookin’ for some fly by night wham bam thank you, ma’am. He actually prefers to be in a relationship and your boy Barnes ain’t ready for all that.”

“Never say never,” Carol sang. “I have it on good authority that he’s been flirting back. You should talk to him. See for yourself… then pay me my money.”

 _"If_ this pipe dream of yours ever comes to fruition, on that day, I will pay you immediately and in full,” he promised. 

“You better. I take cash, credit, or StarkPay,” she laughed. “Tell Maria to call me!” She hung up abruptly and Jim rolled his eyes before tossing his phone across the bed. 

“Fuckin' superheroes,” he muttered.

Maria poked her head out the bathroom door, laughing despite her mouth being full of toothpaste lather.

“Get your girl,” Jim said and she cruelly laughed at his suffering.

“Carol’s got a gift for this cupid thing, babe. I mean, she did hook us up.”

Jim had actually asked Carol for Maria’s number but, semantics.

“Not to mention,” she mumbled, “you pretty much guaranteed that she inserts herself into this situation. If she—”

“We agreed, no meddling unless we’re asked to intervene by Sam or Barnes,” Jim pointed out. 

Maria smiled and shook her head. “Of course, what was I thinking? I’ve only known her for over thirty years.”

Her point wasn't lost on him and when she disappeared into the bathroom again, Jim sat there for a moment in thought. Maybe he should call Sam. It couldn’t hurt to hear for himself just how close he was to losing $50.

***

Sam was determined to fill his day with frivolous activities to keep from thinking about his… outing with James. Yes, _outing,_ because it was absolutely, _not_ a date, just two guys—two friends—going to the movies and dinner. Completely normal. Totally plutonic.

He repeated the mantra to himself over and over.

Ok, so, he was a complete ball of nerves. He hadn’t been on a date (not that this was a date) in ages. Between taking down Hydra, becoming an Avenger, searching for James, becoming a fugitive, becoming a secret Avenger, fighting for the fate of the universe in Wakanda, losing five years of his life, and then fighting for the fate of the universe again, there had been little time to connect with someone. 

He wasn’t even sure what he was so worried about. It wasn’t as if he and James had never spent time alone. In fact, they were almost always alone together. They ate most of their meals together (in and out of the apartment) and they watched movies together in the condo all the time, even before they had officially started working on their friendship. Why should this be any different? It wasn’t different. It was fine, dammit.

Around noon, James text him to ask if he wanted a sandwich from their favorite place. He replied in the affirmative and trusted James to remember his usual order since that was a thing now. _Don’t get used to it,_ he warned himself.

A text came through from Carol while he was reorganizing his shoes for the third time.

[Carol] Hey Sam

Carol almost never text him on the weekends and rarely talked shop when she was in New Asgard.

[Sam] Hey. What's up?

[Carol] Just wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone at the moment.

 _Not this again._

[Sam] Let me stop you right there. I’m not interested in anyone who wasn’t born on this planet. That Asgardian you hooked me up with was a fucking disaster.

_A hot disaster, but a disaster nonetheless._

[Carol] LOL. No more aliens, scout’s honor.

[Sam] Why’d you ask if I was single?

[Carol] Because I know someone, a human, who may be interested in you. I just wanna know what you’re looking for if anything at all.

Even though he wasn’t actively pursuing anyone, in particular, he would be open to having a boyfriend (he’d welcome it, to be honest). Or at least someone to keep his bed warm until his ridiculous life of super heroing inevitably ran them off. That was pretty much a guarantee.

[Sam] Not that I’m looking… but I wouldn’t mind meeting someone new. Idk how the dynamic PR duo would feel about it though. It’s probably not very “on brand.”

[Carol] I have a feeling that a nice, wholesome relationship is right on brand.

She had a point. Much to his surprise, Aimee and Joe had no plans to hide his sexuality. A relationship would probably work in his favor.

[Sam] I’ll bite. Who is this guy?

[Carol] A friend.

Sam rolled his eyes at the phone. 

[Sam] you’re a horrible cupid, Danvers.

[Carol] I’m actually great at this, just you wait.

[Sam] Meaning…

[Carol] All will be revealed in due time, young grasshopper 

_Ok, that wasn’t weird at all._

Lunch arrived and as predicted, James had gotten his sandwich order right down to the light mayo and extra pickles. Sam tried not to dwell on that too much.

Lunchtime conversation was light and surprisingly devoid of flirtation, unlike their texts last night and breakfast that morning. Perhaps James was done toying with him? He couldn’t decide if he was glad or disappointed about that. 

He was grateful that James had decided to don a shirt for the meal. Those pert, pink nipples and rippling abdominals were far too distracting to contend with during another meal. Not to mention that heavenly V at James’ pelvis. Sam was a sucker for the V. 

It wasn’t the sandwich that shifted his salivary glands into overdrive as Sam recalled James’ not-so-subtle lack of underwear at their morning meal and the delectable bounce in his pants that resulted. 

He took an obscenely large bite of his sandwich and tried not to think about it, but his imagination was already going a mile a minute.

All of James’ bodily functions were amped up, digestion, metabolism, healing, his stamina, and endurance were obviously enhanced as well thanks to the serum. God, his refractory period was probably a couple of minutes at best. _That could be... interesting._ Sam might even consider bottoming for the first time in over a decade just to test out his theory (in the name of science, of course). And it wasn’t lost on him that James could easily scoop him up like he weighed nothing at all and _FUCK,_ what a sight that would be. Sam was a big boy after all. Shorter than James by one inch, but he had a good 15 pounds of solid muscle on the man. The opportunity to wrap his legs around a guy hadn’t presented itself since senior year of high school. 

His cock twitched at the prospect. James holding him up, slamming him up against any wall in the condo, using only brute force and gravity to fuck him into next week.

 _Oh no. No. No. No. Don’t get hard. Please don’t get hard… UGH!_ Too late.

He blinked a few times and took a long drag of his water. His face must’ve given him away, because James cocked his head to the side like the world's cutest puppy and asked, “You ok, Sam?”

“Yup,” he choked on his water but quickly recovered. _Real smooth, Wilson._

James seemed to accept the weak response and went back to rambling about God knows what. Had he been talking this entire time? Meanwhile, Sam was trying (and failing) to will his dick into submission but the fight was getting nowhere and his appetite was nearly gone. He had to get back to his room and take care of this… situation.

“I think I’m gonna go lie down,” he announced, interrupting something James was saying about some fucking sweater he’d recently purchased. 

“Oh ok. You feelin’ alright? Is it the sandwich?” he asked, pretty blue eyes full of concern. Sam felt a little bad for lying but there was no getting rid of this hard-on while he was in James’ presence. 

“Uh maybe. I dunno,” Sam tried, scooping up the Styrofoam container as he stood to hide the slight bulge in his sweats. Thank goodness they were loose and not those weirdly tight sweats everyone (including James) wore these days. He placed his leftovers in the fridge and didn’t bother to turn around as he tossed a “See you later, man,” over his shoulder and hurried down the hall to his room.

Once he was safe within the confines of his own space he fell backward onto his bed and let out a long-held breath. A cold shower was in order. 

Sunlight bathed his entire room through huge windows and glare from the shield in his closet caught him right in the eye. 

_That fucking shield._ Steve’s shield, because it still didn’t feel like it belonged to him. He hadn’t even used it yet. Hadn’t really touched it since he put it in the closet.

Becoming Captain America should feel like a new beginning. An exciting new chapter of his life. Instead, it still felt like a foreign concept and an unbearable burden.

And just like that, his dick had begun to soften. He filed that away for future reference. Surely he would need boner-killing material in the very near future.

***

James couldn’t help but feel he’d done something wrong. Sam’s excuse for bolting hadn’t been even remotely believable. Not to mention, it was becoming a common occurrence as of late.

Maybe the desperation spilling out of him made Sam uncomfortable. Maybe he was having second thoughts about their date. _Not a date. Right._ But Sam wasn’t the type to bite his tongue. If he didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t. 

So, maybe there was still hope.

***

It was 4 pm and Sam was having a whole meltdown about what to wear. Clothes were tossed haphazardly around his usually immaculate bedroom as he tried on several iterations of the same outfit; a henley and jeans.

The first one was forest green, paired with khakis.

Next was a black sweater henley with grey slacks.

After that, he tried on a Navy one with light blue jeans. He spun around in the mirror to check out his ass before groaning in frustration 

Why in the fuck did he own so many henleys anyway? In the end, he settled an oxblood henley and dark blue slim cut jeans. That would pair nicely with his new cognac boots and his favorite bomber jacket.

When Jim called around 4:30, he welcomed the distraction.

“Hey. You good?” Jim asked when he frantically answered the phone midway through the first ring.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I’m great.”

“O…K.” Jim drawled, clearly not buying it what he was selling.

“What’s up, Jim?”

“Nothing much. Just wanted to check in with you after that whole meeting thing yesterday. It was… a lot.”

“No kidding,” Sam sighed, “I’m not looking forward to any of it.”

“Well, you know I’m always here, man. Just hit me up if you feel overwhelmed or whatever.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

There were a few too many beats of silence before Jim spoke again. “So… what about your love life? You seein’ anyone these days?”

_Damn why was everyone suddenly obsessed with his romantic involvements?_

“Love life? What’s that?” Sam deadpanned. 

“What do you think about… Barnes?” he asked carefully.

_Where did that come from?_

“What about him?” Sam asked, curious to see where his mentor was going with this particular line of questioning.

“I just mean… you like guys, he likes guys—”

“Doesn’t mean we like each other, man.”

“I know that. I’m just sayin’. He’s a… good lookin’ guy, you guys live together—”

“Whatchu getting at, Jim?”

“Is he not your type?”

A simple question, but it tripped him up and he had no idea why. Perhaps because he was about to say something he’d never said out loud before this moment.

“He’s quite possibly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Jim went silent again. Sam could almost hear the gears working in his brain. 

“Sam… Here me out bro. I’m not gay, so maybe there’s a disconnect here—something I’m missing—but, that sounds like something that you should want to pursue,” Jim offered. “I mean, am I wrong?”

He wasn’t, but for all the reasons that he should pursue James, there were 10 reasons why he couldn’t. Ok, maybe not 10.

“We’re teammates for one,” Sam posed, “then there’s all the uh--the brainwashing stuff and his recovery. It'd be unethical of me. He’s not ready for anything more than a physical relationship and I—”

“You want more than that,” Jim finished for him.

“Yeah, I do. Not necessarily from him, but just… in general.”

“Oh. So, you guys talked about this already?”

“…No.”

“Then how do you know what he’s ready for? You were a counselor, not a goddamn telepath. Also, Shuri and Strange gave him the all-clear. If he wasn't fully recovered, Carol wouldn't have asked him to join the Avengers.”

“You just got an answer for everything huh?”

“Maybe you should ask the man then. I mean, if you’re interested. If not, fuck it.” Jim suggested. “Hey, I gotta go. It's Netflix and chill night.”

“Ugh. Too much info, old man,” Sam chuckled.

“At our age, we literally chill. I'll be surprised if we make it through the whole movie. We’re senior citizens after all.”

“Whatever. You still get it in,” Sam teased, “with a fuckin’ Chief of Staff no less.”

“Bye, man,” Jim laughed.

“Talk to you later, Jim.”

***

Jim ended the call and sank into the couch with a long sigh. It was clear just from that one conversation that Sam was feeling Barnes, he just needed a little push. He was supposed to be on the opposing team, but fuck it. He wanted his friend to be happy.

These fucking Avengers would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

He unlocked his phone and opened his StarkCash app.

[Transfer Funds]

[Select Account]

[Carol Danvers]

[$50]

[Add Note]

_You win. Let’s get these two idiots together._

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” he muttered to himself.

***

When Sam opened his door at 4:58, he was met by his roommate who looked almost as nervous as he felt. He was leaned up against the wall, trying to keep it cute, but Sam could spot that act anywhere. 

Despite all that, the man looked good. Like, really fucking good. Then again, he looked amazing in everything with that gorgeous fucking hair and those striking eyes.

Sam was fucked. Beyond fucked.

James was wearing a henley too but it was grey, with a pair of black skinny jeans. His black leather jacket and black moto boots set the look off. It was a simple outfit, Sam had likely seen it before, but it was… different this time. Everything was different.

It was probably just the hair though. Yeah, definitely the hair. He just wasn’t used to the hair yet. James had gone the extra mile and applied some product so he looked like a sexy 50’s dreamboat from the neck up and a pretty boy hipster from the neck down. Sam had to wonder if he’d ever get over how sexy that fucking haircut was. Something in him wanted to reach out and run his fingers through it.

The metal hand was disguised by an uncanny hologram emitted from the arm for more social events. Being Wakandan tech, it looked realistic enough, but it was odd not to see metal peeking out from that left sleeve. Sam thought it made him look like a badass.

“Uh, hey man,” he greeted casually.

“Hey,” James sighed, “I was just—"

“Lurking,” Sam smiled, “you were lurking outside my room.”

“I was just about to knock on your door,” he tried, taking a step closer. “You look great. I—I mean the red… it suits you.”

Sam inhaled, exhaled and tried not to sound thirsty. Thank goodness the heat in his cheeks didn’t show obviously on his skin tone. “Thanks. We’re kinda wearing the same thing though.”

“Just take the compliment, ass hole,” James said with an eye-roll and zero actual hostility.

“I said thanks, dip shit. You look—” fine as fuck “great too.”

“Oh, I—um… here,” James sputtered, grabbing a single, cellophane-wrapped rose from his back pocket. 

It was yellow with red just on the tips of the petals. Sam had never seen that color in person. It was beautiful.

“I know I promised flowers but I just got the one ‘cuz I—I didn’t wanna make it a whole… thing by gettin’ you a bouquet and—”

“It’s really pretty,” Sam smiled, taking the rose. His fingertips brushed the other man’s knuckles and he caught James looking down at their hands for just a millisecond. “What’s this color represent? They all got meanings, right?”

“Friendship and new beginnings,” James answered confidently. Evidently, he had done his research.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. “I should—water,” Sam muttered, walking past James to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets for a suitable receptacle

“I shoulda bought a vase,” James scolded himself.

“No worries,” Sam said, holding up a mason jar he’d found in a random cabinet. He washed the jar and filled it with water, removed the cellophane, and clipped a few inches off the bottom of the rose before placing it in the jar. “See, looks great,” he added.  
James smiled and glanced down at the floor. Sam could barely see the redness creeping to his cheeks and Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from outright whimpering at the sight. It was hard not to swoon when James got all bashful like that.

After a few seconds, hipster James Dean glanced at his watch, “It’s about 5 now if you wanna get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go,” Sam agreed. 

He followed James down the hall to the elevator, while trying and failing not to check out his ass in those form-fitting pants. Not a bad view at all. They rode the elevator in silence, sharing a few awkward glances. 

In the underground parking garage, they decided Sam would drive. He opened the passenger side door for James, who snorted in amusement. “What a gentleman,” he pretended to swoon. Sam rolled his eyes, a small smile tugged at his lips as he walked around to the driver’s side.

The drive started out quiet. James pulled out his phone after a few minutes and Sam pretended to be wholly concerned with the road ahead while he thought about James. 

Sam prided himself on his ability to read people. It had always come naturally to him. It’s what made him such an effective counselor. Reading James while his mind was still healing had been simpler. Sure, he didn’t talk much, but Sam didn’t need words to see the inner turmoil and discomfort he was feeling, even if Steve had been damn near blind to it.

Now that James was free from Hydra’s influence and finding himself all over again, he was harder to read. Sam had given up trying for a while, which was why they hadn’t been close before despite living together and having so much in common. Maybe it was time to try again.

For one, James was smart. Smarter than he let on anyway. He was sharp in battle and a strategist through and through. Hell, he’d come up with, at least, part of a public relations plan to help Sam come out as black, gay Captain America with the least amount of backlash. That took skill. 

He knew from Steve that Bucky was wildly protective. He’d protected Steve his entire life, up until his fall from that train, he’d protected Natasha as a child in the Red Room out of sheer instinct, and he’d been trained to protect his handlers. Even brainwashed, that part of his personality shined through when he pulled Steve out of the Potomac. Protection was ingrained in him. In context, his protectiveness toward Sam was understandable since he had quite literally taken Steve’s place. 

How did the flirting figure in though?

Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered, but it seemed to come completely out of no where. James had just recently come out to him and honestly, he sounded like he was still figuring all that out. Did he really like Sam? Maybe. Or maybe he was just confused. 

Whatever James thought he wanted from Sam, it didn’t matter because Sam had established a line in his mind that he would not cross. ‘Look, but don’t touch’ was the name of the game, and boy, did he ever look. They were teammates after all and that could get real messy real fast. 

More importantly, if he let himself fall for James—and he could really fall for James—he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he lost him like he’d lost Reilly; Powerless to save him. Utterly useless. 

Now that they were about to go public as superheroes, a huge target would be on their backs. Enemies would be springing up from everywhere and there would be more opportunities from something to go awry. Losing a friend was bad enough, but Sam couldn’t lose another lover on his watch.

Besides, Sam was finally ready for something more. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship since Reilly and he missed being intimate with another person. Sex was one thing—he could get just about anyone he wanted into his bed—but he was looking for a deeper connection and James… How could he be ready for a commitment?

Even if there was an attraction (or in his case, some kind of annoyingly unavoidable gravitational pull) between them, it would never work. They were both too strong-willed, too protective, too similar. They would inevitably kill each other. 

On the other hand, Sam could tell from just looking at James that sex with him would be an out-of-body experience. God, the two of them would be explosive together. Sam wondered if he ever crossed James’ mind in that way. If he ever fantasized about Sam fucking him or vice versa.

He had to shake the thoughts from his head as James looked over at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

 _Fucking you. Hard._ “Huh?”

“I can literally hear you thinking, Sam.”

“That’s physically impossible,” Sam pointed out and James laughed before getting back to his phone.

The rest of the ride was spent in comfortable silence, but it was only a few minutes before they arrived at the theater. They bypassed the ticket line—James had purchased the tickets ahead of time—and found two prime seats smack in the middle of the back row.

“These places used to be a lot nicer back in my day,” James commented, looking around the theater. 

Sam laughed to himself. That was such a Steve Rogers thing to say. In fact, he was sure Steve had said the exact same thing the first time Sam took him to the movies after the whole Triskelion debacle. 

Sam hated previews. They always gave too much away. If he could guess the whole plot of a movie from a two-minute trailer, what was even the point of seeing the damn thing? 

“I bet the guy’s soul is trapped in the dog,” James whispered halfway through what seemed like the 10th trailer.

Turns out, he was right. “How original,” Sam huffed and James chuckled quietly. 

James had selected the latest Bond movie, which was fine. Sam normally enjoyed a good spy flick. Except, this time was a bit different.

It was dark, and James was very close, too close, and the light from the screen was dancing off his annoyingly perfect cheekbones and jawline that was now fully exposed due to the lack of beard. 

They watched TV together all the time at home, but with Sam stretched out on the couch and James curled up in the loveseat under one of his many blankets. They were never this close.

Now, they were damn near shoulder to shoulder, and James appeared to be avoiding the middle armrest just as Sam was. 

He just close enough to smell his scent and he smelled like lavender and peppermint and musky vanilla. A heavenly blend of cologne and essential oils that filled his nostrils and made his head swim. Sam could feel every shift and change in James' breathing. It was like sensory overload, only it was focused solely on James.

Sam could barely hear the movie now, every sound from the speakers was muffled like he was hearing it under water. Before he knew it, his heart was beating way too fast, he could hear it in his ears, and all the saliva in his mouth had suddenly disappeared. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, moving hastily. 

James grabbed his arm and Sam looked down at the hand in absolute terror. “You ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I just need some snacks,” he lied. “You want somethin’?”

“Candy, please. Anything chocolate.”

Sam failed to see the humor in that as he nodded and excused himself.

He got himself a red slushie, a bucket of popcorn with extra butter and Recces Pieces for James. 

“Sorry about that,” he whispered as he took his seat, handing James the box of candy.

“No problem, I’m starving myself.”

“Have some popcorn. I dunno why I got this huge ass bucket,” he offered.

James did take a handful of popcorn with a hushed, “thanks,” and they continued watching the movie.

Sam felt slightly better but he couldn’t wrap his head around whatever the hell had just happened. On the surface, it felt like a panic attack, but that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t had one of those since just before he separated from the Army. He wasn’t particularly stressed, no more than usual anyway. What was it then?

He continued to pay minimal attention to the movie, too busy trying to diagnose the source of this random attack. It seemed to just happen out of nowhere, no triggers, no new stressors. He had just been sitting there, minding his own business, staring at—

Shit.

***

Bucky was looking at the screen, but he wasn’t paying the movie a single shred of attention. Not since Sam had bolted out of the theater like he’d seen a ghost. That was the third time this week Sam had rushed from a room he was in. 

At first, he was nervous that Sam would call the whole thing off. Thankfully, he was just hungry. Low blood sugar and all that. He knew how that felt better than anyone. His metabolism was faster than most, but he’d learned to deal with it by snacking constantly.

Sam seemed much better now that he had something to eat. It was good too because, James really wanted to spend this time with him, to impress him. Every so often, he’d steal a glance at the man to his right.

This was gonna be a long two hours.

***

As they exited the theater, a group of five kids spotted them and began to whisper to each other.

Bucky and his enhanced hearing concluded that they were about to be accosted. 

“We’ve been compromised,” he murmured to Sam as one of the kids, a short dark-skinned boy no more 10 or 11-years-old trotted up to them. He must’ve been the bravest of the bunch.

“Are you Falcon and Winter Soldier?” the boy asked, eyes bright with wonder. He was wearing an Avengers shirt featuring the original six members and the sight of Natasha and Tony made his heart sink a little.

“We sure are lil’ man,” Sam answered, charismatic as ever. “What’s your name?”

The other kids took that as a sign to join their friend. “I’m Brandon,” the boy answered. “This is my cousin Robin, my friends Arryn and Greg, and my twin sister Brianna. All the kids smiled and waved shyly. “What are you guys doing here?

“We just saw the new Bond movie,” Bucky answered him.

“Wow,” Arryn marveled. “Superheroes at our movie theatre. This is insane!”

“Hey, we like movies too,” Sam remarked, smiling. God, he was too charming for his own good.

“Where’s your arm?” Greg asked, staring at Bucky’s arm

"Oh--uh, it's here. Just kinda... camouflaged," Bucky replied, unsure if he should have divulged that info to a civilian child.

“So, we’ve got this bet going,” Robin explained to Bucky, “Are you gonna be the new Captain America or are they gonna make a new super soldier?”

He froze and glanced at Sam whom he could tell was bothered but hiding it well enough. “Uh—I—We don’t… know… yet,” he responded unconvincingly.

“Can we take a pic with you guys?” Brianna asked and bless her heart for changing the subject. 

“Sure. Yeah, let’s get some pictures,” Sam smiled. 

They took multiple pictures with each of the kids’ phones, then when Brandon and Brianna’s mom came to pick them up, they took a few selfies with her as well.

When they got back in the car, Sam was discernibly upset. He had to say something.

“Hey, I—”

“Nope,” Sam cut him off abruptly. “There’s nothing here to talk about. Please, don’t make this a thing.”

Bucky opened his mouth to retort and closed it just as quickly. If Sam didn’t want to talk about it, this was a losing battle. Instead, he relented, “Ok.”

“Still feelin’ up to dinner?” he asked. Bucky was admittedly excited to take Sam to the restaurant he chose, Blue Duck Tavern. He’d combed through Yelp all night to find a place with good reviews that was equally romantic and casual with large portions of food he’d actually heard of, and had reservations available for a Saturday night. Also, it was a Michelin Star restaurant, which Bucky found out was very classy.

“I don’t really wanna… be around people right now,” Sam sighed, looking utterly deflated.

Bucky knew that feeling. They would have to check out Blue Duck Tavern another time. “Well, we gotta eat,” Bucky pointed out. “I dunno about you, but candy and popcorn ain’t enough for me.”

“How about some take out? We can pick it up on the way home,” Sam suggested.

Bucky twisted his body to look at Sam, who’s face read complete disappointment but he cleared his throat and schooled his expression once he realized Bucky was staring. God, what he wouldn’t give to see Sam smile right now. He wanted to make it all better. Take Sam home and do things that would make him forget about that encounter. He had a few ideas, but now probably wasn’t the time.

“What about cheesesteaks?” Bucky proposed. “We could stop at Pete’s.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” Sam smirked, starting up the car.

Bucky knew Pete’s Cheesesteaks was Sam’s favorite. He’d mentioned before that it was the only place in D.C. that tasted remotely like the ones in Philly.

10 minutes later, they were ordering food at Pete’s. They sat down at a table to wait, Sam still looked like someone had pissed in his cereal.

“I uh—I know you probably don’t trust me enough to—”

“I’ve already told you that I trust you, James,” Sam interrupted.

“Ok. Why don’t we talk about what happened then,” James suggested.

Sam sighed and sat back in his chair. “It’s just—” he paused, searching for the words. “It’s petty, I know, but It kinda hurt that I wasn’t even an afterthought in that little bet those kids had going. It was either you or some random guy,” he explained. “I can see the hashtags now,” Sam continued, “#NOTMYCAP or some shit like that. Wait’ll they find out I like dick too. The fucking names people will invent to call me.”

“Nothin’ petty about that, doll,” Bucky offered. “It hurt your feelings and your feelings are valid.”

 _“My feelings are valid,”_ Sam mocked bitterly, “you learn that in therapy?”

Bucky wanted to laugh. Sam was so bad at being obtuse, it was almost cute.

“Sorry,” he muttered eventually. “That was uncalled for. You’re just trying to help.”

“’s fine,” Bucky assured him. “People will see, once the announcement is made, that you’re the man for the job, Sam.” He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but he had to stay positive to get Sam out of his head. At least for the time being.

“I dunno about all that,” Sam retorted. “Everything you did under Hydra’s control is public record now, and those kids still thought of you before me.” 

Bucky’s heart sank. A seemingly small interaction had reinforced every one of Sam’s insecurities about being Captain America. He was at a complete loss as to how he could help since the only solutions that came to mind involved putting his mouth on Sam's body in some fashion. That was probably more for him than Sam though.

***

Sam only managed to get through half a cheesesteak and a handful of cheese fries in the same time it took Bucky to finish all of his food. He was currently trying to suck the last drops of his soda through a straw, making a loud gurgling noise. 

“Let it go, man,” Sam laughed and Bucky finally tossed the empty cup in the trash. “Where does all that food go anyway?”

“Toilet mostly.”

“Gross.”

“You asked,” Bucky shrugged. “I just have a really fast metabolism.”

“Must be nice, not havin’ to work out for all those rippling muscles.”

So, Sam noticed his muscles. _Noted._ “Oh, it is. I get tired just watching you exercise. Looks like a horrible time.”

Sam responded by throwing a Cheese-covered fry that landed smack on James’ cheek. He pulled the fry off his face and popped it into his mouth with a smug look and Sam grimaced. Bucky then tossed the balled-up paper bag from his meal at Sam. It bounced off his head and hit the floor.

“Don’t start,” Sam warned when James leaned over the counter to grab a paper towel. 

“I should make you lick it off,” he muttered as he wiped at his cheesy jawline. 

“Well, I do love Cheez Whiz,” he commented. “But, y’ know, you wiped it off already,” he finished lamely.

Bucky looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Hey,” Sam said, breaking the prolonged eye contact. “It’s still early. You wanna watch a movie or somethin’?

“I could watch a movie,” he shrugged casually. Watching a movie in the dark could be the perfect opportunity to get closer to Sam.

Instead of curling up in the loveseat with a blanket like he usually did, Bucky sat with Sam on the couch. He was all the way on the opposite end but it was a start. A few minutes into the Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, he even got up to get said blanket from the loveseat, sat right back down on the couch and wrapped himself up.

“You cold?” Sam asked.

When was he not cold? _Goddamn bootleg serum._ “I'm always cold.”

“You serious?” Sam turned to him, surprised.

“Yeah, my body temp runs like two or three degrees colder than normal. It’s a side-effect of the fucked-up serum they gave me and all the cryo,” James explained.

“You need me to adjust the thermostat?” Sam asked, concern rising in his expression.

“No, this is enough. Thanks.”

_Dammit. That would’ve been the perfect oppurtunity to get closer._

“Y’wanna get closer?” Sam asked tentatively as if reading his mind. “I mean if you’re cold. We could—”

“Yeah,” Bucky interrupted, more enthusiastically than intended. “Yeah, sure.”

They both scooted closer to the middle of the sofa until their thighs were barely touching.

“Better?” Sam asked.

“Better,” Bucky parroted. “Wanna get in on this cashmere?” he asked, shaking the blanket.

“Sure,” Sam responded.

Bucky unwrapped himself and draped some blanket over Sam’s legs while simultaneously moving a couple of inches closer, hoping the movement of the blanket hid his intentions.

Sam settled in and moved the arm closest to Bucky up to the back of the sofa, effectively putting his arm around him. Bucky was, of course, internally squealing for joy.

They were close. Closer than they’d ever been and Sam was radiating heat like a furnace. Bucky wondered if this was what it was like to be this close to anyone who wasn't him. It was divine and heady and Bucky wanted to curl up into it and sleep forever. Instead, he sat perfectly still, determined to draw the moment out as long as possible.

It lasted for approximately one hour.

“Buck,” Sam murmured breathlessly halfway through the movie.

It took a concerted effort on Bucky’s part to shake himself out of his Sam-induced trance and realize that Sam had actually called him Buck.

“Huh?” he breathed, unsure if he'd actually made a sound or just exhaled. He watched Sam’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

“Can I—” he paused and licked his lips and Bucky’s cock twitched so hard he had to suck in a ragged breath.

“I uh-- I really—” Sam started over.

“Yeah?” Bucky prompted, biting his lip for good measure. As he’d hoped, Sam’s eyes went right to his mouth for a full 3 seconds. It was finally happening. This was his moment.

He let his eyes fall closed and leaned in until his mouth was so close to Sam's they were sharing breath.

“I can’t do this,” Sam huffed suddenly, throwing the blanket off his lap and standing up. As he turned to walk away from Bucky (once again), he whispered, “I’m sorry," without so much as a glance. 

Bucky’s mouth hung open, but couldn’t speak. He could barely think. 

Instead of walking toward his bedroom, Sam grabbed his shoes, jacket, and keys and disappeared through the front door without even putting them on. 

Bucky sat there on the couch, stock still, for a full minute, utterly confused. “What the fu--?” he asked no one at all, eyes darting arounf the empty room. “What the fuck just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Old Man Steve in this chapter, but fear not, he'll be in the next one. 
> 
> Also, I probably won't mention this in the story unless it becomes necessary, but Rhodey is walking again without the braces, thanks to Shuri and that sweet sweet plot device called vibranium.
> 
> Give me love and kudos. K bye.


	6. Wasted Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky run away from their problems (each other).
> 
> Steve offers some advice.
> 
> Pepper is a saint.

October 7th (con't)

From his favorite spot on the porch, Steve could hear loud music emanating from the garage where Peter and Morgan were supposed to be working on new web-shooters. He smiled at the memory of Tony toiling in his workshop while listening to music so loud, it vibrated the walls. 

“Are they still in the garage?” Pepper asked from the doorway as she wiped her hands with a dishtowel.

Steve nodded and she walked off toward the detached workshop, emerging a minute later, followed by Peter who was carrying a sleeping Morgan. 

“All tuckered out huh?” Steve commented as they stepped onto the porch. 

“She didn’t nap,” Pepper sighed. “I’ll take her Pete.”

Peter handed Morgan’s limp body over to Pepper and sat down on the chair next to Steve’s swing.

“How ya doin’, Peter?” Steve asked.

“I’m ok,” the boy responded. “I like being out here with you guys. It’s so… quiet. The city is so loud, it’s like… I can’t think sometimes.”. 

_Anyone would love it here,_ he thought to himself. It was so peaceful.

“I wish he was here. I got him back and lost him just like that,” Peter added wistfully. 

Steve knew who “he” was and it still hurt to talk about. Just as it hurt to talk about Nat.

Peter still seemed so young. So small sitting there all hunched over. Arms wrapped around himself because apparently, kids these days had a grudge against proper jackets. He should be a man of 21 by now, but he was still 16 and Steve’s failure had contributed to that. 

“Oh, Pete,” he started, but he didn’t know what to say. “We all lost him.”

Tony’s death had cut Peter deep. Steve still felt some guilt about that whole thing whenever he was around the boy. Maybe if he’d been faster, stronger, _better_ , Peter would still have Tony. Jim would still have his best friend. Pepper would still have her husband. Morgan would still have her father. 

If only trusted Tony enough to bite the bullet and sign those goddamn Accords—the same Accords that were now little more than toilet paper—They could’ve had a chance. The first time around. 

_Together._

No dust, no cosmic catastrophe, no moving on. 

Sometimes, his mind would slip –as a 105-year-old mind does—and he would confuse this timeline’s Tony with the other. _His_ Tony. 

You see, when Steve had returned from his well-deserved, well-lived life, everyone had naturally assumed that he’d spent the time growing old with Peggy Carter. This was emphatically, not the case, but he never corrected them.

While Pepper, Bruce, and Bucky had all known ahead of time that he planned to stay back after returning the stones, only Pepper and Bruce knew _whom_ he was staying back for.

Happy pulled up to take Peter back to the city and Peter ran to grab his bag. 

“Can you tell Mrs. Stark I said bye? Didn’t wanna disturb the bedtime routine,” he requested.

“Of course,” Steve agreed and Peter leaned in to hug him. 

“See you in a couple weeks, Mr. Rogers.”

“Be safe, Peter.”

“Always,” the boy smiled.

Happy waved and Steve smiled and waved back as Peter trotted down the porch steps and slid into the passenger seat of the black Audi sedan. 

As they drove off into the woods, Pepper appeared at the door with a glass of red wine in hand. “I assume that was Happy?”

“Yeah. Peter said to tell you goodbye.” Steve picked up the orange pastel and returned to his work.

Pepper sat down in the same chair Peter had just vacated. “He’s a good kid,” she sighed. “Tony certainly thought so.”

“He was right,” Steve said with a woeful smile. “Tony was always right.”

Pepper sipped her wine but didn’t reply.

“You should get some rest, Pepper,” he suggested.

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?” she smiled before downing the rest of her wine. 

“You could never.” It wasn’t a lie. Pepper always looked so put together, even now in one of Tony’s vintage shirts, leggings, and those hideous, yet blissfully comfy Uggs.

She huffed amusedly at his flattery and stood. “Don’t stay up too late,” Pepper cautioned him before pressing a kiss just above his temple and retiring to the cabin. Steve only nodded in response, though he had no immediate plans to hit the hay. It was still early. Plus, it wasn’t like _he_ had to work tomorrow.

In addition to effortless beauty, Pepper Potts was a literal godsend. A real-life angel on Earth. She’d given him her house and provided for him since his return. All this for a guy who had essentially stolen her man, albeit in another timeline.

He still remembers the day he told her his plan. He’d been so nervous, but he felt the need to tell her. He owed it to her. It was a two-fold revelation because the only other person who knew about him and Tony’s brief yet explosively impassioned tryst during one of their many breaks, was Tony. He knew Bruce wouldn’t give a shit, but Pepper could have taken it personally. That was the first of many times that Pepper surprised him. Tony had been lucky to have her.

_Bruce was stressed. Even as the Hulk, his body language screamed tension. Steve could hardly blame him, he’d lost Natasha and Tony, Thor was gone. His arm was irreparably damaged, and now this; he was losing Steve too._

_“If what Bruce said is true, and I’m inclined to believe it is,” Pepper piped up from his right, “you’ll open a new timeline, correct?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And it won’t affect this... timeline, you’re sure of it? Everything here will stay the same?” She asked Bruce._

_“Yes, but—“_

_“Then do it,” she cut Bruce off before directing her attention back to Steve._

_“What if they don’t believe you, Steve?” Bruce argued, “what if Tony doesn’t—"_

_“He will,” Pepper interrupted again. “He’ll believe you, Steve. He’ll convince the others.”_

_“How do you know that, Pepper?” Bruce asked, skeptically._

_“Because,” Pepper began wringing her hands, “Tony was in love with Steve. He um—he told me about what happened between you two. After I… left him. After New York.”_

_Steve’s heart was beating rapidly, it was all he could hear now. He thought for a moment that they could both hear it in the dead silence of the cabin living room. “Pepper, I—”_

_“He loved me too, Steve, don’t look at me like that. I felt his love ever since our first dance… Then, well, everything happened, Ultron and then—Yeah.”_

_The hulking green doctor to his left, sighed, finally conceding. “You can’t do anything until you’ve put all the stones back.”_

_“I swear,” Steve promised, too tired to even attempt to hide his desperation at this point. “I’ll take everything back to its rightful place.”_

_Bruce looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “I can’t say anything to stop you, can I?” He tried._

_“If you tell me that it could alter anything in the here and now, I won’t do it. I’ll just—” the very thought made his stomach turn, “I’ll just return the stones and Mjolinr and the particles, then I’ll come straight back.”_

_“It won’t,” Bruce sighed again before getting up to pace back and forth as the thought to himself silently. “It’s just—there are so many things that could go wrong, Steve. You could completely ruin that timeline. Not to mention, there’s already a Steve Rogers in that reality.”_

_“That’s the least of their worries,” Steve pointed out. “Think of the good I could do. The good two of me could do. Get Bucky back, expose Hyrda… I could prevent Ultron, maybe even Thanos. I could—I could get ahead of the Accords. Jim would never be paralyzed, and we’d be together. All of us. I’d never leave him to—to clean up my messes all by himself. I’d be there for him. I just… Please, let me do this,” he finishes in a whisper._

_“Oh Steve,” Pepper stood from her seat on the couch and stepped in front of him. She took his face in her hands. “You love him so much,” she said, almost relieved._

_“I do,” he nodded, meeting her eyes._

_“Let him do it, Bruce,” she said without dropping their eye contact. “Let him go.”_

_Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head, thinking. It was still weird to see him all big and green with such emotion behind those eyes. An emotion besides rage anyway. “It’ll take me a week at most to install the self-destruct, and I’ll need to talk to the Pyms,” Bruce said after a moment._

_“Are you going to tell anyone else?”_

_“Bucky, maybe. Not sure yet.” Steve bowed his head at the mention of his best friend. He was going to be heartbroken._

_But maybe—just maybe—when he found someone he’d move heaven and Earth to be with, he would understand why Steve had to do this. He had to try._

_Steve had made so many mistakes where Tony was concerned, and now by the grace of Tony himself, there was a chance to go back and right his wrongs. He had to try._

_“What about Sam?” Bruce asked and it was like a stab to his heart. Sam would insist on accompanying him. That’s just Sam. He couldn’t allow that to happen though. Sam was needed here._

_Sam and Bucky were both needed here._

_“I don’t think I can,” Steve says reluctantly. He couldn’t bear that look of disappointment. The same look Sam gave him when he finally told him about Siberia. People thought he was pure goodness, but he was far from it. Sam was the good one._

_“Ok,” Bruce nods solemnly and that’s that._

***

Steve’s phone rang just as he finished his picture of the blood moon overhead.

“Buck?”

“Steve, disable the fucking forcefield bullshit, I’m like three minutes out.”

“What’re you—Yeah, ok. Gimmie a sec.”

He hung up and asked Friday to disable the energy barricade that encompassed a 3-mile radius surrounding the lake house. A little gift from their friends in Wakanda.

Bucky sounded anxious and that was never good.

Five minutes later, Bucky’s ’67 Mustang came to a halt in the driveway next to Pepper’s Audi Q7. He got out, slamming the heavy door, and stormed up the porch. 

“What’s goin’ on, Buck?” Steve asked but Bucky didn’t answer, just stomped up to the same chair Peter and Pepper had occupied and dropped himself onto the seat.

He hadn’t been up to visit in a few weeks and from the look on his face, this wasn’t a leisurely trip.

“Uh… Bucky?”

Bucky let his head fall into his hands and let out a breath that made his shoulders sag. Steve decided to give him a minute. A full three passed before his friend spoke.

“I think… I fucked up,” Bucky muttered into his hands as he sat back in the chair. “I fucked up bad, Stevie.”

“Where’s the body,” Steve chuckled and if looks could kill, Bucky would have murdered him right then and there. “Sorry,” he winced, “bad joke. What happened?”

“We—we were sitting there and he had his arm around me—I mean, I thought he did—then he turned and called me ‘Buck’ and he never calls me that and he sounded so—I just thought… _shit,_ I dunno what I thought. It was so fucking _stupid._ ”

“Just so we’re on the same page here, who are we talkin’ about?” Steve asked, though he had a pretty good idea. “I like the haircut by the way. You shoulda done that forever ago.”

Bucky sighed again then ran his fingers through his newly-short hair and tugged in frustration. “Thanks. And it’s… Sam,” he answered contritely.

Suspicions confirmed. Bucky and Sam were so—well, compatible was the only way to put it. Honestly, Steve thought they would’ve gotten together ages ago, but he didn’t like to pry… That was until, Carol and Jim had called to request his assistance in “getting those two idiot friends of yours together” as Jim had put it. “They’re in love, they just didn’t know it yet,” Carol had added, and how could he not help out after that? It was all very high school but hey, he didn’t have shit else to do.

“Ok… so what, you guys slept together or somethin’ and now it’s weird?” Steve asked bluntly. Age had really done a number on his brain to mouth filter, meaning he no longer had one. Tony would have been proud.

“What? No. Nothin’ like that. I… just read the situation all wrong and he freaked out and hightailed it outta there without even puttin’ his goddamn shoes on.”

That didn’t sound right. Sam wasn’t one to run away from confrontation. 

“Tell me exactly what happened, Buck.”

His best friend recalled the events of the last few days; his coming out at the meeting, the terrible text flirting, their topless pancake adventure, his conversation with Carol, the rose, the movie, the incident with the kids, that whole cheese-fry thing, and the events that transpired afterward. Listening to Bucky explain everything, it didn’t sound like he’d misread anything at all. Sam seemed pretty into Bucky as far as he could tell. 

“Sounds to me, he likes you back. Maybe he’s just scared,” Steve shrugged. “I mean, it doesn’t sound like him at all, but—”

“That’s what happened, Steve. I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“No one said you were lyin’, Buck. I just never known Sam to run away from anything, which probably means he likes you _a lot,”_ and Bucky’s eyes widened with hope at the prospect. “I can’t think of any other reason for him acting so out of character. To be fair, he’s never been romantically involved since we’ve known each other. I mean, there were hook-ups here and there when we were on the run but—”

“Ok. I got it,” Bucky cut him off and Steve stifled a smile at the burgeoning protective streak. He’d recognize it anywhere. Even if they didn’t get together, Sam would be dealing with that slightly irksome personality trait for the rest of his life.

“So, what’re you gonna do then? You can’t just give up,” he asked and Bucky crossed his arms and huffed.

“I dunno. That’s why I came here, for your sage advice or whatever.”

“Sage advice? I’m not Yoda.”

“You’re old as him though.”

“You’re older than me!” That finally cracked Bucky’s scowl into a low snicker. “Y’wanna stay here for the night? Drive back in the morning?”

“Pepper’s here though, isn’t she?” he cocked his head in the direction of her shinny crossover SUV. "You think she'd mind me spending the weekend here?

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve assured him. “Friday, is Pepper still awake?”

“She is,” the AI replied.

“Could you let her know that Bucky is staying? He’ll be in the guest suite on the first floor.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll never get used to that,” Bucky commented, staring up at the porch awning.

“I’m also in your phone,” the smooth Irish accent mocked. 

Steve chuckled. Friday’s sassiness was always so comforting. Not nearly like having Tony back but it was reminiscent.

Bucky looked up in mock-offense. “You teach her that?”

“Tony,” he answered fondly.

***

Sam was losing his fucking mind. That was the only rational explanation for fleeing one’s home in a panic at the prospect of a simple kiss. A kiss from a guy Sam was clearly falling hard and fast for. A kiss that would have complicated things.

 _Further_ complicated things. 

On the other hand, a kiss might have brought him some clarity. Some direction. If there were no fireworks, it would be easier to leave it alone. Cut his losses. Either way, he wasn’t going to find out now. Hell, James was probably moving out of their apartment at this very moment. Sam wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he damn sure didn’t want to be present when it happened.

The bar had just closed and he needed to find somewhere to sleep. Steve’s place would have been ideal, but Sam was too drained for that long ass drive. Jim’s place was the only logical choice. Hopefully, Maria was already gone, he’d hate to interrupt their quality time. 

His phone rang before he could reach for the ignition start button. _Steve_. Sam accepted the call silently.

“Sam?”

“Hey, Steve,” he sighed.

“What is going on?” Steve asked, concerned.

God, he did not want to talk about this. He wasn’t even sure what was going on in his own head. “What’s going on with what?” he asked instead.

“Why is my oldest friend currently sulking in my downstairs guestroom?”

 _Damn, that was fast._ “He’s where?”

“Here. _Sulking._ I got his version of events so, now I need yours.”

“Why?”

“So that I know which idiot I need to slap upside his head. Now, talk.”

“Did—is he… there to stay?”

“He’ll be home tomorrow. So maybe you two can fix this.”

“Steve—”

“You do like him, right? Or am I missing something here?” Steve interrupted him.

 _Well, duh._ “I—”

“Because Bucky’s head over heels for your dumb ass.”

“Wha—?”

“He’s all bent outta shape about _misreading the situation,_ but from what he told me, I don’t think that’s what happened at all,” Steve said in an unmistakably accusatory tone. 

“It ain’t that simple, Steve.” Because it wasn’t. He and James were a bad idea. An extremely sexy, terrible idea. 

“You like him, he likes you. Please explain the complication.”

Steve already sounded 100% over his bullshit and Sam couldn’t even be mad at that. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lovesick teenager?

“It’s been barely a week since we stopped actively avoiding each other and I can already see myself fallin',” _in love with him._ Sam let his confession trail off. “That’s crazy right?” he chuckled wetly.

“You’re not crazy,” Steve sighed. “Look, Sam, you’re scared, I get it, but y’gotta talk to him at the very least,” Steve advised.

Sam let his head fall back against the headrest. “He makes me feel—It’s like Rielly all over again, but... different in a lot of different ways. I get all—” _Nervous? Flustered? Horny?_ “I dunno.”

“I think that’s a good thing,” Steve chuckled. “You’re the bravest guy I know, Sam. This is easy. It’s just a conversation. It’s _just Bucky.”_

Christ, _‘just Bucky’_ was the understatement of the century.

“Are you at home?” Steve asked.

“Oh, no. I uh—I kinda… ran away” _Like a child._

“Sam—”

“I know. I know. I just had to get out. I had to get… away from him.”

Sam could practically see Steve's patented ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ face. Not that he’d ever been on the receiving end before tonight. “That’s the problem. You’re over-thinking it. I think you already know how you feel about him… and Bucky already told you how he feels about you.”

Sam was certain he’d missed that conversation. “When was this?”

“The rose, Sam.”

“What about it? It’s a yellow rose, means friendship,” Sam reasoned.

“It has red tips,” Steve pointed out, then sighed after waiting a moment for Sam to put two and two together. “Just Google it,” he added impatiently.

His phone beeped and Sam moved it away from his ear to see who was calling so late. _James,_ of course, because this night hadn’t been abysmal enough, right? He gutlessly declined the call and returned the phone to his ear.

“I gotta go, Steve. It's late, I need to drive home and—” 

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good night, Sam. Just remember what I said ok. You guys can’t avoid each other forever.”

“I know,” Sam relented. He could try though.

They said their goodbyes and when Sam hung up, there was one unread text from James:

_I am so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I obviously misread that situation and I’m mortified that I caused you to leave like that. I value our friendship and I hope this doesn’t derail what we just started. I hope you can accept my apology._

_I value our friendship._

_FRIENDSHIP._

Sam didn’t have the heart to reply. He may have lost his chance with James and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for it.

After a moment of wallowing, he took Steve up on his advice and Googled the meaning of yellow, red-tipped roses. The results left him even more confused than he’d been five minutes ago: 

“New beginnings/falling in love.”

_Fuck._

This was bad. If James was developing feelings for him, it would be that much harder to deny his own feelings. He had to do something drastic to nip this in the bud. That would be the rational thing to do.

Well, maybe not, but rationale be damned, that was what he was going to do. 

Before his brain had a chance to come up with a fully-formed plan of action,  
he found himself parked across the street from a well-known club

This would have to do; get drunk, find a guy, and fuck his brains out. An avoidance tactic as old as time and while one-night-stands weren’t necessarily his style, this would have to do for now. Short of permanently vacating his perfect apartment, this was the next best thing.

If he could distract himself with a hot stranger’s mouth and/or ass, and everything would go back to normal. That was how this sort of thing usually worked, _right?_

For Christ sake, he was Captain America now. He had more important things to worry about than James’ hair and his rippling pectorals. 

If he was going to do this though, he’d have to get and NDA. The last thing he needed was a scandal. Not that homosexual sex was a scandal, he just didn’t want some guy who’s name he was already hoping to not remember, writing some sorted tell-all about his night with Captain America.

It was a longshot, but he shot Aimee and text; _Hey, need a favor. Can you please send me a Nondisclosure agreement?_ Not 30 seconds later she texted him back, “check your email, have fun ;-)” the implication was clear. What else could he possibly need an NDA for at this hour?

The Peacock was one of the seedier gay clubs in the city, but it stayed fairly busy. Mostly Tinder and Grindr meetups, which was precisely the crowd he was looking for. Even now, at 2am on a Monday, there was considerable traffic at the front entrance. 

The club was dark, darker than he’d expected, and the music was almost too loud. The scent of cigarettes and weed was less than pleasant. It had been a few years since he’d been to a nightclub and not been undercover. The only real lights came from a low-lit bar area, and a laser show emanating from the DJ booth. Half-naked bodies littered the dance floor, writhing and grinding. Sam suddenly felt overdressed and under-intoxicated so, he made a beeline for the bar.

He had to be at work in less than seven hours, but against his better judgement, he ordered a double shot of Hennessy and took it down in one quick swig before motioning for a cute, blonde bartender to pour him another. 

“Wanna open a tab, gorgeous?” the svelte young blond hollered over a pounding bassline. 

Sam nodded and and handed over his debit card which earned a wink from the blonde in, _oh ok,_ hot pink hot pants. _Wouldn’t kick that outta bed,_ Sam considered while downing a second shot.

“Hennessy,” a voice on his left asked, “you tryna forget an ex?”

Sam gestured for a refill before turning his attention to the voice, an extremely attractive man leaning on the bar, with a glass of clear liquor in hand. 5’10”, golden brown skin, curly jet-black hair cut short on the sides like it wanted to be a mohawk. He couldn’t have been older than 25. Unlike everyone else in the building, he was fully-clothed in a heather grey V-neck, destroyed black jeans so tight they were pretty much leggings, and loosely-tied combat-style boots. 

“Just trying to forget in general,” Sam replied, feigning indifference. “Can I get you another drink?” he offered as Mr. V-neck drained his glass.

“I’m tipsy enough, sweetheart, but thanks,” the mystery man answered as he slinked closer.

Sam suppressed a shudder when the man’s mouth unexpectedly brushed the shell of his ear.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’d hate to not remember sucking the Falcon’s cock tomorrow morning.”

_Well, that was easy._

Getting Chase (if that was even his real name) to digitally sign the NDA had been surprisingly painless. Sam supposed the Peacock saw all manner of closeted famous men come through looking for some strange. 

It was a five-minute walk to Chase’s apartment, during which Sam found himself pressed against a brick wall next to a storefront, being kissed senseless and fondled through his jeans. 

Chase smelled like cheap cologne and vodka, which wouldn’t have been quite so terrible if vodka wasn’t James’ drink of choice. Sam never touched the stuff, but James always smelled of it whenever they visited their favorite bar down the street from his job. Needless to say, it was distracting. But Sam powered through.

Once they got to the apartment, it was a blur from the door to the bedroom, where he was pushed down onto an unmade bed.

Chase slid to his knees and scrambled to get Sam’s jeans undone and _goddamn_ if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing ever. 

“Mmmm, do all superheroes have perfect cocks, or just you?” he purred before taking the entire, half-hard length into his mouth at once.

“Holy—” Sam hissed as he absentmindedly threaded his fingers into the other man’s hair. “Gah— oh fucking god.”

Chase moaned and unsheathed Sam’s cock, fully hard and glistening with saliva, and stroked it roughly as it throbbed in his grasp. “You like that?” he murmured. 

“Fuck, yes,” Sam huffed.

“You wanna come down my throat Mr. Hero?”

Sam barely had time to utter some form of an affirmative answer before the head of his dick met the other man’s tonsils. 

Chase hollowed his cheeks and sped up the pace and all Sam could do was cry, _“Ohshitohshitohshit,”_ as his soul was sucked from his body.

Between the wet clutch of Chase’s mouth, the obscene sounds that were positively thunderous in the otherwise silent room, and the visual of a gorgeous man’s lips stretched around his cock, Sam wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Sam must’ve whited out because when he came to, he was on his back and Chase was holding out a bottle of water while chugging his at the same time. 

He sat up and took the water with a muttered, “thanks,” chugging it like a man in a desert. Were orgasms always that draining? “How long was I out?”

“Not long, like a minute,” Chase shrugged. “Kinda freaked me out though, not gonna lie.”

“Sorry about that. It’s a—it’s been a while,” he admitted before he could stop himself. Goddamned Hennessy was like truth serum.

“That’s a pity,” the younger man smirked as he took a seat on the bed next to him. “Pretty sure if I was a superhero I’d be drowning in an Olympic-sized swimming pool of cocks.”

“Yeah well…” Sam chuckled. _What a visual._

“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” Chase asked dejectedly.

“What? No, I—”

 _“Girlfriend?”_

“No, no. I’m… unattached.”

“Oh… ok…” 

Sam felt a little foolish asking, “so do you need me to uh…”

Chase outright giggled, “Oh no, I’m good, Hon. Sucking a superhero off is on my bucket list. It was between you and the panther king.”

He didn’t have the energy to act disappointed but, _thank goodness,_ because Sam was not looking forward to reciprocating… which was unusual for him. 

He stood to fix his jeans and turned when he felt eyes on his back. “What?” he smiled at Chase, who was examining him like he was some kind of alien.

“You sure you don’t have a boyfriend?” asked, squinting.

“Positive. Wouldn’t be here if I did.” He fixed his pants and smoothed down his shirt. Chase was still eying him suspiciously. “What?” he asked again, smiling nervously. 

“If you don’t have a boyfriend then… who the hell is Bucky?”

***

October 8th

When he woke up just after 5am, it took Bucky a moment to remember where he was. The big wooden sleigh bed, fresh white linens, the dark hardwood floors, trees just outside the window. 

_Steve’s cabin._

It all came back to him in a flash; his (not a) date with Sam, the kiss that never was, and the debacle that followed.

_Shit._

He grabbed his phone. No reply from Sam. Not surprising. Bucky had really fucked up. They’d made such progress in the last week alone and now it would probably take a miracle to get Sam to even talk to him. He would have to earn that trust all over again. He had to.

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. How could he have been such an idiot? 

_Sam Wilson, that’s how._ He had some kind of spell on Bucky, the kind that prevented rational thinking.

The way Sam had said his name; _“Buck?”_ like a prayer, like a fucking plea. His arm just barely resting on Bucky’s shoulders. The heat emanating from him. Damn his serum-enhanced eidetic memory.

 _Holy hell,_ blood was rushing south at an alarming rate, and clearly, it was coming directly from his brain. Bucky palmed at himself through his boxer briefs as he replayed the scene in his head. Pondering the possibilities.

He wanted to kiss every inch of Sam’s body, craved the weight of Sam’s cock in his mouth. 

_Bucky would murmur something along the lines of, “I’ve been dreaming of your cock all day,” and Sam would put his mouth to Bucky’s ear and whisper, “show me.”_

_He would make him whimper and cry out and lose control. Spilling himself abandonly._

_He would stroke his cheek so tenderly and tell him he was “beautiful like this.”_

Bucky wanted Sam to claim him. To possess him. To burrow inside and never, ever leave.

The image in his mind was almost enough to take him over the edge, which was too sad to even think about. It had been a while since he had someone to fantasize about. Since coming out of cryo, jerking off had been more necessity than pleasure. And he certainly never had a vision like this as inspiration. 

He moved the sheet and comforter and hurriedly pushed his underwear down, and gripped his exposed cock. He sucked in a sharp breath as he began to stroke himself to the memory of Sam’s voice and the ridiculously vivid images running through his head.

He didn’t have much practical experience with men, but he watched enough 21st century porn to know how things usually went down and he’d snuck enough glances at the man’s body to fill in the blanks. 

_Sam would be all thick, sinewy muscle, wrapped in dark, silken skin and Bucky’s cock would twitch at the sight. His broad shoulders, his ridiculous chest, bulging biceps, defined abs, and God, those thighs._

_Bucky would worship him, head to toe, with his mouth._

Bucky bit down on a vibranium finger to keep from crying out Sam’s name as he spilled all over his stomach and chest. 

Man, he had it bad. 

After cleaning up his mess and brushing his teeth, he got dressed and ventured out to the living room where Morgan, dressed in ‘Hulk Smash’ pjs, was coloring on the floor .

“Mr. Bucky!” she beamed when he entered. “You cut your hair. And your beard.”

“Hey, princess,” Bucky reached down and rumpled her hair with his flesh hand. Her eyes went straight to the new vibranium one.

“You have a new arm?!” she asked excitedly, discarding her colored pencils altogether. Only Tony Stark’s offspring would get excited about cybernetic limbs. Well, her and that raccoon.

“Oh, yeah. The princess of Wakanda made it for me,” he replied, looking down at the arm. Half the time, he forgot he even had a new one.

“I know who Princess Shuri is, silly,” Morgan rolled her eyes and pushed herself up off the floor. “She gave me this.” The girl held out her wrist to show Bucky her little Kimoyo beads. 

“Neat, kiddo.” Bucky took a seat on the couch and she followed him with her eyes locked on the arm. 

“Does it have a repulsor?”

“Uh, no.”

“You should get one. That way you can blast bad the guys and you won’t have to punch them.”

“Hey, I happen to like punching. I have guns too though.”

“Are they in the arm?” she asked, examining the cybernetic appendage. 

“No, but they’re repulsor guns.”

“I _guess_ that’s ok,” she admitted idly.

“I can do this though.” He touched a spot on his wrist and his arm instantly turned flesh-toned, complete with defined muscles and hair.

“That is so cool!” Morgan squealed.

“What’s cool?” Pepper asked from behind the couch.

_When did she get there?_

“Mr. Bucky’s arm, mommy. Princess Shuri made it and see,” she pushed his arm up for her mother to get a better look, “he can turn it into a normal arm!”

“Oh, wow, that is something,” Pepper commended as if she hadn’t seen the arm a few days prior. “Time to get dressed, Morgan. We have a flight to catch.”

“Yes, mommy,” she sulked. “Bye Mr. Bucky.” 

Bucky waved weakly and she went to grab her Avengers coloring book and her pencils before scampering up the stairs.

“How’ve you been?” Pepper asked, still watching Morgan walk up the steps.

“Can’t complain,” he responded, “and thank you again, for everything.”

Pepper waved him off, “It’s nothing. I’m happy to help. I’m just glad you and Sam are doing alright. I know it was hard for both of you after Steve… left.”

Those were some dark days. The two of them had been so upset with Steve and it didn’t help that Steve had told Bucky his plan ahead of time. 

“Still,” he added, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Pepper smiled sweetly. “I’d love to stay and catch up, but we have to get back west.” She glanced at her watch. “I probably won’t see you before the gala, but feel free to call me if you need something, ok.”

Pepper ascended to the second floor and Steve was descending a moment later in his ridiculous chair thingy, looking quite cross.

“Not. One. Word,” he warned, scowling. 

“I didn’t even say anything.” Bucky pressed his lips together to keep from cracking up at his best friend.

“I have you use it when Pep’s around,” Steve defended himself as he finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Bucky went over to help him out.

“I get it.” he raised his hands in submission before undoing the safety belt. He helped Steve up and over to the kitchen table. “This is like old times, huh,” he huffed, supporting Steve’s weight as they walked.

“That time I had scarlet fever,” Steve recalled.

“That doctor was sure you were gonna die.” Bucky pulled out a chair for Steve who sat with a grunt and picked up a tablet that had been sitting on the table. Probably to read the news. “’Just make sure he’s comfortable,’ he said, nothin’ else we can do,’” Bucky remembered. “He was a quack.” 

“I’m just hard to kill.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Bucky pointed out and Steve actually chuckled at that. The little shit.

Bucky crossed the room and opened the fridge. Fully stocked and overflowing with fresh fruits and veggies, organic almond milk, cage-free eggs, and meats wrapped in butcher’s paper because, _duh, Pepper Potts._ The woman was a literal saint.

“Wish my fridge looked like this.”

Steve huffed but didn’t look up for the tablet. “Go shopping then.”

“No point,” Bucky shrugged, pulling eggs and thick-cut bacon from the fridge. “Neither of us cook.”

“Why not?” Steve did look up that time.

“I dunno,” Bucky shrugged again.

“Christ, what’s wrong with you two?” Stop wastin’ money on eatin’ out all the time and learn to cook,” Steve argued. “Nothin’ worse than a grown man who can’t fend for himself.”

Sam clearly knew how to cook. At least, his pancakes were damn good. And he could learn anything with the right YouTube tutorial.

“Actually,” Steve began, discarding his StarkTab, “that might be a good way to—y’know _woo_ him or whatever if you’re still—” 

Oh, he was still... “I’m listenin’.”

“Sam loves to eat, it’s like his favorite pastime. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

True, that was a thing people said. Bucky laughed it off and turned on the stove. “Y’want breakfast?” he asked Steve.

“No thanks. Angie will be here in an hour and it’s waffle day,” he smirked. Steve gave Angie hell but it was clear that he adored her.

After rolling up some scrambled eggs and bacon in a tortilla, Bucky said his goodbyes to Pepper and Morgan. He ventured out to the pier just as Angie pulled up to the house.

He spent the remainder of his day with Steve. After his waffles, they went fishing on the lake, ate lunch on the porch, and watched old movies for the rest of the day while reminiscing about the old neighborhood and their days with the Howling Commandos. Angie made roast chicken with autumn vegetables for dinner and the three of them played Bridge with Steve's night nurse, Marlene, who had arrived bearing the gift of freshly baked sweet potato and pecan pies. By 9 pm, Steve was well-fed and adorably tuckered out. Marlene lovingly shepherded him upstairs to bed and Angie finally departed for the evening after cleaning up the kitchen.

Once alone in the living room, Bucky flipped through the thousands of channels on the TV before settling on some singing competition show he remembered Sam liking and _Shit,_ just like that, Sam was on his mind again. He checked his phone for the first time in hours. Still no response from Sam. He typed and deleted five different messages before deciding against reaching out at all. Instead, he sighed and settled in to watch some redhead's rendition of Katy Perry's Firework, all the while imagining Sam was there, offering his usual witty commentary. 

_God,_ he had it so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After seeing Spider-Man: Far From Home, I am thinking about incorporating it into this story, but I'm not sure how to do it. Suggestions are welcome though.


	7. A Transference of Energies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not worried about setting the mood, we need them to talk,” Jim insisted. “Let’s just hope they don’t fuckin’ kill each other.”
> 
> OR
> 
> Rhodey and the other two captains take their Cupid act to the next level, Sam fucks up yet again, and Bucky is being petty. 

October 9th

**James Rhodes**

Jim sat back in his chair, and sighed. It was only 9am and he’d been listening to “the captains”—as he called them—squabble for the last 20 minutes over the best way to play Cupid with Sam and Barnes, and growing increasingly irritated with every passing moment.

Steve had called him at 8:45, while he was on his way to work, to update him on the “squabble” between Sam and Barnes that had forced them both from their apartment the night before. Then, without so much as a warning, he’d conferenced Carol into the conversation.

Carol had suggested they set the two up on a blind date. It’s was a simple plan, albeit unoriginal, a bad romcom waiting to happen. There was one glaring problem, though; Sam and Barnes would know that their teammates were meddling in their love lives. That could backfire.

Steve had suggested they send fake texts to them both, confessing the other’s feelings of love and devotion, then sit back and enjoy the fireworks. Carol argued that they’d feel manipulated once they inevitably figured out who was really behind those messages. Steve countered by pointing out that this entire scheme was manipulative and well, he wasn’t wrong. 

They were basically talking in circles now and Jim was over it. Both ideas were stupid anyway.

“What about a mission?” He suggested, cutting through their arguments.

“A mission?” Carol parroted. “There’s nothing that bears any real threat—” 

“We don’t need a real threat,” Jim posed. “We just need to send them undercover or surveillance from a safe house for a couple days. Close quarters isolation, somewhere they can’t run away from each other.” It was a damn good plan.

“That... could work,” Steve mused.

Carol hummed thoughtfully. “I guess we could send them to do reconnaissance in Latveria,” she considered. “We have some intel that the king may be purchasing old Ultron parts from Sokovian extremists. I was going to send Shuri and Peter this weekend as a training op. It’s not even worth an overnight stay.”

“They could work out of the safehouse in New Sokovia,” Jim pointed out. “Just delay extraction ‘til the next day.”

“We have satellites that can do this in an hour, guys. I’m pretty sure they know that it too,” Carol argued.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to put your foot down and tell ‘em what’s what, Captain,” Steve chuckled.

“Sounds like a plan then,” Jim commented impatiently.

“That safe house is shit though,” Carol added, “not really a mood-setter.”

“I’m not worried about setting the mood, we need them to talk,” Jim said. “Let’s just hope they don’t fuckin’ kill each other.”

October 12th

**Bucky Barnes**

Bucky had laid eyes on Sam for a total of, maybe, 15 minutes over the last few days and that was probably an overstatement. Half that time, Sam was scrambling to leave the room or the apartment to avoid sharing the space with him which wasn’t really a bad thing if he was being honest. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

They had been communicating via text almost exclusively, and the messages were mostly one of them asking the other what he wanted for dinner. To which the other man would reply with a curt one- or two-word answer. 

Bucky now had a lot of time to himself, which he used to watch cooking tutorials and stalk Sam’s social media to figure out what to cook the man. So far, he’d learned that Sam liked just about anything as long as it tasted good. Which wasn’t exactly helpful. 

By Tuesday evening, he had settled on Fisherman’s stew. It was fitting for the season’s declining temperatures and Sam seemed to really enjoy seafood so, win/win. He planned to serve it with garlic bread and a light dessert that required absolutely _zero_ baking. Something fruity, perhaps.

On Wednesday, he decided on a berry salad with vanilla bean whipped cream for dessert, care of Pinterest

Thursday would be the day. He would ask for a half-day on Tuesday, head to the grocery store after work and see the fishmonger he’d found on Yelp, Wednesday to make sure everything was fresh as possible. He would have to leave work on time for once to have everything ready for by 6:30, which was the time Sam usually got home. 

So, he had a plan. He had all his supplies and ingredients. All he needed was to invite the man to dinner. He’d waited until the absolute last minute because Sam seemed the type to overthink and talk himself out of doing something if given too much time.

Bucky sat at his desk, StarkPhone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. This should be just another dinner message, but he was nervous. _Don’t come on too strong, Barnes_ —because that had worked out just great before—and he did not want to imply that this was a date or anything even remotely close to it. The last thing he wanted was to scare Sam off completely. 

**Bucky: Making dinner tonight, if you want some.**

Sam replied surprisingly quickly.

**Sam: you’re cooking?**

Bucky smiled at his phone. He could hear that skeptical intonation in Sam’s voice. 

**Bucky: Yeah, I cook.**

**Sam: I’ve never seen you cook anything besides scrambled eggs. So, before I agree to be poisoned, what are you making?**

**Bucky: LOL I’d never poison you.**

_I like you entirely too much to do that,_ he thought, uselessly. 

**Bucky: Dinner is a surprise, though. You’ll just have to wait and see.**

**Sam: Challenge accepted. I’ll be there. Gotta eat, right?**

Bucky replied with a smiley face emoji and set his phone aside. Now all he had to do was make it to dinner and the rest would fall into place. _Hopefully._

***

Bucky dropped the jumbo shrimp into the pot and gave it a stir before taking it off the heat and removing the garlic crostini from the oven. The berries were washed and macerating in sugar and lime juice and the whipped cream was chilling in the fridge. 

_6:24, right on schedule._

He dashed from the kitchen to change his clothes only to hear the click of the locking mechanism on the door to the apartment a moment later.

“Honey, I’m home,” Sam called, a smile in his voice and Bucky smiled too as he pulled on a pair of jeans that didn’t smell of fish. Sam seemed to be in good spirits. Maybe this night would turn out ok after all. 

Their conversation, started out casual as always; work, music, old military stories, funny anecdotes about Steve. Sam complimented the meal multiple times and he was pretty sure Sam caught him blushing when he asked if seconds were a thing. By the time he looked at his watch, they’d been eating chatting for nearly two hours. Sam appeared sufficiently disarmed from the white wine, so Bucky felt this was as good a time as any to bring up the elephant in the room.

“So, Sam, I uh—I wanted to apologize for the… other night, when we—when I—” 

“No need to apologize, James,” Sam said, waving him off. He pushed a cream-covered raspberry past his lips and Bucky swallowed a groan as the image was burned into his mind.

“I really think there is, though. I shouldn’t have—I mean—I thought you—” he exhaled and attempted to gather his thoughts. This speech had been so much easier when he’d practiced it in the mirror. 

“James,” Sam stepped in, “I don’t… not… like you,” he explained, seemingly pained to admit it. “I mean, have you seen yourself?”

Bucky brought a glass to his mouth to avoid eye-contact. This was not the evening he’d bargained for. Not that he was complaining or anything.

“But, you and me,” he continued, motioning between the two of them, “it can’t happen. Its recipe for disaster.”

And there it was, the other shoe. Of course, this night was too good to be true. He didn’t even know how to respond to what Sam 

“We’re teammates. It would be… bad for the team. If you were just… some guy—” his voice trailed off.

But he wasn’t just _some guy._ They’d fought and bled together in three major battles. Two of them for the fate of the goddamn universe.

Sam had given up his freedom to give him and Steve a chance to get away. 

He’d come up with an entire marketing plan to save Sam a fraction of the bullshit he was about to experience as Captain America. 

This teammate excuse was complete bullshit and Sam had to know it. He had to be in denial. He had been secretly engaged to his goddamn battle buddy once upon a time. _Was that ‘bad for the team” too?_ he thought bitterly.

They were roommates, partners, friends. If there was any sort of physical attraction there, and there clearly was, it should be a no-brainer. They should at least explore it. 

Confusion had turned into disappointment and was rapidly morphing into anger with every passing second. Bucky could feel the tips of his ears warming up. He was about to blow it his top like a fucking cartoon character.

When he finally looked up at Sam, his expression was as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“James, I—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I just wanted to say sorry. Didn’t mean to _violate_ you or anything,” he spat. 

Sam didn’t reply to that, he just cast his eyes downward and pushed some berries around in his bowl. 

Moments of uncomfortable silence passed again before Sam spoke again. “I have to go, I uh—I’m meeting someone for drinks.” He stood and grabbed his bowl. “Thanks a lot for dinner, James. It really was amazing.” He dropped his half-eaten dessert in the sink and grabbed his jacket from where he’d draped it over the back of the couch. 

It was like wildfire was burning in Bucky’s gut, crawling up his chest, to his neck. His ears were tingling and his nails were digging into his palm from clenching his spoon.

“You can leave the dishes for me if you want,” Sam offered, one hand already on the doorknob.

Or so Bucky assumed. He couldn’t bring himself to look in Sam’s direction.

“But don’t wait up, right,” he sneered. 

“James, I—I’m sorry.”

He was gone after that and Bucky could no longer contain the rage that was coursing through him. It wasn’t until he was kneeling on the floor with bloody palms and bruised knuckles, that he realized he’d punched holes in the walls and destroyed every dish on the table.

There was seafood broth and random shellfish parts scattered about and it would start smelling soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

**Sam Wilson**

Sam didn’t exhale until he was safe inside his car. That was when the lump in his throat became apparent and tears followed swiftly after. The look on James’ face had broken him, completely.

All he wanted to do was gather the man in his arms and make it better, preferably with his mouth and/or his cock… But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t._

It didn’t matter what Steve or Jim said, he couldn’t be with James like that. This was the right decision. The honorable decision. 

He parked his car in a lot next to the bar and headed inside. It was… different. One of those speakeasy-themed places where the bartenders called themselves mixologists and dressed like old-timey soda jerks in suspenders and twirled mustaches.

“Sam!” a voice called from a booth to his left. 

He attempted a smile and walked over.

“This place is… cool,” he tried as he took a seat across from Chase and removed his jacket.

“You don’t have to lie, it’s pretentious,” he said, motioning one of the waitstaff over. “But they make the best cocktails I’ve ever tasted.”

“That right? I thought all you Brits drank ale or whatever.”

“The shade,” Chase pretended to shudder. “I left London 10 years ago, don’t be an ass. Hey Gemma, another old fashioned, darling” he told the waitress who had materialized tableside from God-knows-where. She nodded curtly and looked to Sam.

“I’ll have a Hennessy sidecar.”

Gemma nodded again and flitted off.

“Well, you look like hell,” Chase smiled, resting his chin on one curled hand.

“I’m fine,” Sam muttered.

“Of course, you are. Let’s start this friendship off by lying to each other, shall we?” the younger man smiled facetiously.

Sam rolled his eyes. Why was everyone so interested in his goddamn his feelings lately?

Thankfully, Chase could talk an oak tree to death. While he yammered on about his day, Sam was thinking—more like obsessing—about his conversation with James. 

It took Gemma no less than 10 minutes to return with their drinks. “Anything the else gentlemen?”

“No, dear, thanks,” Chase said with an obviously fake smile. “Christ, did she have to grow the cherry tree?” he hissed when the waitress walked off.

“These bougie places always take forever,” Sam commented.

They sipped their drinks at the same time, the other man eyeing him over the rim of his glass.

“Fine,” Sam relented. “I’m just in a weird headspace about—“

“Bucky!” Chase finished excitedly, positively beaming at the prospect of talking about the man in question.

“Don’t call him that.” Sam didn’t even call him that.

“You called him that, darling—when you _came in my mouth, no less.”_ And thank God he had the decency to whisper that last part.

Sam glared at him.

“Fine. _Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes_ then. Have you two fucked yet?” Chase asked too casually.

“God, no! And keep it down. You never know who could be listening,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re the one yelling, Samuel.”

“I _am not_ yelling.”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t want to hear about _he who shall not be named_ until you two talk this thing out.”

Sam looked up at the ceiling and exhaled, seriously questioning his decision to befriend this man at the moment. 

“We did talk.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You told him how you feel?”

“God, why am I talking to you about this?” Sam muttered to himself.

“Because I’m bound by an airtight nondisclosure agreement and I won’t risk the wrath of Pepper Potts-Stark taking everything I, my children, and my grandchildren will ever own by telling a single soul about our conversations,” Chase answered before finishing off his drink. “Oooh, does that make me like, your shrink?”

“No.”

“Says you. What are we talking about again?”

“Buc—I mean James.”

Chase lifted his brows as if to say “Gotcha,” before gesturing Gemma over again. “I’ll have another, darling, thanks. My friend here will take still water. He’s a dreadful bore.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Gemma stifled her laugh and walked off.

“Sam, sweetheart, I literally have no advice for you. You’re clearly ass over tits for this boy. I mean, if you don’t do it, I will.”

“Ass… over tits?”

“Don’t change the subject. How can you fly around with a set of metal wings and fight aliens to save the world, twice, but you can’t tell a gorgeous man you have feelings for him?” Chase picked up the new drink Gemma had just dropped off and took a few sips back to. “’fraid you’ll cock it up?”

_Ugh, cock. Bucky’s cock. No, stop, SHUT UP!_

“Can you just—with the cocks, please!”

“Fine. _Mess_ it up then. Bloody sensitive Americans,” he hissed.

“I did tell him,” Sam explained. “Well, I told him I… like him… but couldn’t be with him.” He knew it sounded like a bullshit excuse the more he said is out loud, he just hoped Chase didn’t see it that way.

Clearly, he had, because the man was frozen, staring at Sam over the rim of his glass.

“Why… in all the bloody hell… would you do that? We talked about this, Samuel!” Chase whispered angrily through his teeth. It reminded Sam of the way his mother used to reprimand him in church.

They had talked about this predicament. Following their tryst and Sam calling him Bucky at the moment of climax—Chase had insisted Sam stay and talk it out. The guy gave shitty advice (or, rather, the same advice Steve and Jim had been giving him), but he was a great listener. Sam needed someone who didn’t know James, or him for that matter, who could offer an unbiased opinion. A therapist would have been ideal, but then who would entertain him with witty, semi-British banter? 

“Well, I can’t, Chase. I’ve already explained that to you. You and everyone else,” Sam defended himself.

“Yes, yes, because of _the team_ , I’ve heard this bit, darling. What I am referring to is the fact that you felt the need to _tell_ this man who is quite clearly enamored with you that you, in fact, _do_ like him, but you won’t be with him. If he has any sense of self-preservation, he’s already looking for a new flat!”

 _Shit._ That was probably a terrible idea in retrospect. He was going for honesty, but he most likely ended up hurting James more than a lie of denial ever could. How could he have been so stupid? If James really did have feelings for him, he probably ruined more than the guy’s dreams of a romantic relationship with that unnecessarily cruel declaration. Luckily (or unluckily) for him, James had no concept of self-preservation.

He had to get home. With any luck, Bucky would still be there and he could make this right. He had no idea how, but he was going to try.

“Chase, I—”

He stopped to fish the vibrating phone out of his pocket amid Chase’s muttered insults.

 **Secured Message**  
From: Captain Marvel  
To: Falcon, Winter Soldier

**Recon 13-15 Oct**

**Location: Latveria**  
Depart: 0500, Triskellion  
Drop: Avengers Safehouse New Sokovia/Latveria border  
Extraction: 15 October, Time TBD  
Dossier: Provided in route. 

**Acknowledge receipt.**

Sam typed a quick ‘Acknowledged’ before telling his companion, “I gotta go.”

“Avengers business?” Chase asked and Sam nodded before standing to pull his jacket on. “Off you go, then. I’ve got the bill.”

“Thanks,” said Sam as he rushed out the door. If he had to be at the Triskelion at 5, he should have been asleep already. Not to mention, he needed to at least try make things right with James. Just because they couldn’t be together romantically, didn’t mean they had to end their burgeoning friendship. Didn’t it?

“They would send us to cold ass Latveria,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot.

**Bucky Barnes**

Bucky had just finished cleaning up the broken china and glass when he received the secured message from Carol.

The two substantial holes he’d punched in the wall would have to remain until he could get to a hardware store. Luckily, the wall was reinforced, or his vibranium fist would have gone straight through to the other side with little effort.

Great, he thought. A mission was just what he needed. A chance to get out of the apartment he shared with the object of all his sexual desires the past week, and also punch some people. 

_Ugh, recon._ So, no punching then.

When he noticed the other codename next to his in the ‘To’ line, he nearly smashed another plate.

“Fuck,” he hissed to himself.

Bucky needed to be cooped up, all weekend, in a tiny safe house with Sam Wilson like he needed a hole in his head.

‘Acknowledged’ he typed back.

Bucky seriously doubted he’d be over this anytime soon. Even now that Sam had shot him down twice and was clearly on a date, Bucky still wanted him.

There was something about Sam that was just so damn _special._ There was no other way to put it. Bucky would probably still pine for months to come. And boy, wasn’t that just the saddest thing ever.

 _I should move out,_ he thought. That would be the sensible thing to do. It would be so a whole lot easier to get over this thing if he didn’t have to see _him_ all the time. They could just go on missions together and that would be it. Keep each other alive. Keep it professional. 

After the mission, he’d start looking for a new apartment. Nothing could compare to a place worthy of Tony Stark that literally, but he made pretty good money working at the Embassy, and his back pay from the Army was just sitting there collecting dust in his savings account. He could find a nice enough place. 

Bucky proceeded to carry out his usual nighttime routine; checking the locks on the front door, balcony doors, and windows, before retiring to his room for the night. 

One of the many great things about this condo: Sam’s and his rooms were on opposite sides of the apartment, separated but the kitchen, and a sprawling living room. They, essentially, had their own wings. Great for privacy and also, avoidance. Both bedrooms boasted an in-suite bathroom, a closet bigger than his childhood bedroom, and floor to ceiling windows because Tony Stark. A half bath was situated off the kitchen on Sam’s side for guests. Not that they ever had any.

Not long after he stripped down for a shower, he heard Sam enter the apartment and mutter something along the lines of “what the fuck,” likely regarding the holes he’d punched in the drywall. He was rummaging a drawer in his walk-in for clean underwear when he heard Sam’s footsteps coming closer.

“James,” he called softly from the other side of the bedroom door and Bucky froze right there in the closet as if Sam had super hearing too.

Again, Sam knocked and called for Bucky, but Bucky did not yield. He had no plans to interact with Sam Wilson until he absolutely had to which was, he checked his watch, roughly seven hours from now.

After a minute, he heard Sam leave his corridor and let out a breath he’d been holding in for some reason.

October 13th

**Sam Wilson**

Showtime at the Triskelion was three hours away and Sam had been staring up at his ceiling for the last four. Even soft static from the white noise app on his phone wasn’t working and that always worked.

After a shower and a tongue-lashing from Jim—whom he’d called for a little validation that he knew deep down he didn’t deserve—he had tried, again, to talk to his roommate, but Bucky had remained silent and refused to answer the door. Sam knew he was home because he passed Bucky’s car in the parking lot when he came home from drinks with Chase.

 _He must be asleep,_ was the lie he told himself as he pressed an ear to the door like a desperate teenager. Knowing full-well that Bucky’s enhanced hearing should wake him up at the slightest sound.

Sam rolled over onto his side and sighed. Even if he fell asleep at that very moment, three hours of sleep would have pissed him off more than anything. So, he resigned to pulling an all-nighter, which never really ended well for him. He was the first to admit that his temperament was less than pleasant when he didn’t get enough sleep. Bucky was the last person who deserved to bear the brunt of his foul attitude, but it wasn’t like he could turn his goddamn mind off.

It took him back to when he’d first left the Army. Medically separated for service-related PTSD following Reilly’s death. The depression, the anxiety, the fucking insomnia. The only thing that seemed to help at all was helping other Vets with their problems.

Now, he was surrounded by superheroes, and ~~most~~ all of them were more powerful than him. _Damn,_ he contemplated, literally every one of his teammates had powers except him. The only exceptions were Jim, Clint, Scott, and Hope, even then, their skills and science-based capabilities were far superior to his. Jim and Clint were retired anyway so, they didn’t even really count.

James was a Super Soldier; T’Challa and Shuri had comparable powers thanks to their heart-shaped herb; Hope and Scott could shrink themselves into another dimension; Peter and Bruce could lift buildings and they were both literal geniuses; Wanda had telekinesis and mind manipulation powers. There was even talk of her being able to bend reality which, _seriously, what the fuck?_ ; and Strange was basically Harry Potter on acid with a sentient magic carpet on his back that was fully invested in his survival. Those were just the Earth-based heroes, which sometimes included the occasional God of Thunder whenever he wasn’t galivanting with the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Then there was the Ultimates of SWORD, which were basically Avengers on 1000. Monica Rambeau, Adam Brashear, and America Chavez, led by Carol Danvers. All four of them boasted super speed, strength, durability, and some form of energy manipulation. Essentially, a foursome of Super Saiyens. And _oh yeah,_ they could all fly _without_ vibranium wings. 

The Avengers had gone from three baseline humans, one god, and one super-soldier, to two separate teams of super-powered beings (some ridiculously so)… and him. So, what if he was Captain America? He was as _baseline_ as they came and he wasn’t even a genius.

Why the hell did they need him to lead the Avengers? What was even the point? To placate his inferiority complex at being surrounded by super-powered beings?

 _Stop it. Steve Rogers chose you. He believes in you,_ he tried to tell himself. But the voice of self-doubt was louder.

He threw the covers off his lower half and sat up far too quickly.

Sam didn’t realize he couldn’t breathe until he was already gasping for air. He could barely hear Friday’s distress protocol kick in over the blood rushing in his ears. They rarely used her in the apartment, but she was programmed to monitor every Avenger’s vitals.

“Breathe in and out, Captain,” the A.I. prompted in a soothing tone, “In and out.”

An accompanying hologram appeared a couple of feet away in his eye-line to illustrate the suggested breathing pattern. It was easy to follow and he was able to regulate his breathing after a moment. 

“This is your second panic attack this month. Should I make an appointment with a Shield counselor?” Friday asked. The empathetic tilt to her voice was actually quite helpful.

“No, Friday.” _Hold up, did she just—_ “Did you just call me Captain?”

“I did, sir. Sergeant Barnes made the change to your profile last week after—“

“Change it back!” He snapped.

“Sir? You’re requesting I change your preferred title back to Sergeant Wilson?”

“No. Just… Sam, is fine, Friday.”

“Noted,” Friday conceded. “Would you like me to contact Mr. Rogers or Mr. Rhodes?”

Sam put two fingers to his pulse point. It was slowing down to a normal rate. “I’m ok now. No need to wake anyone.”

“Let me know if you need anything else… Sam,” Friday retorted, surreptitiously.

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. Smartass A.I. Tony had clearly created her in his image. 

It was time to raid the fridge. He wasn’t going to get through this existential crisis on an empty stomach. He hoped for leftovers of the amazing dinner James had prepared. It really was delicious.

In nothing but a pair of grey boxer briefs, Sam strode out his bedroom door and made a beeline for the kitchen. He caught a glance of the side-by-side holes in the wall by the door. What the hell was James doing punching through the wall when there was a perfectly good punching bag on the loft?

Before he could open the refrigerator door, he heard a strange sound coming from James’ side of the apartment. Something like a whimper, but louder. A moan? _Oh, my._

Perhaps he’d taken a page out of Sam’s book, getting over one guy by getting under another. Not that it’d worked at all for him.

But that couldn’t be right. If someone had entered the apartment, he would have heard it. Unless the guy had been putting in work since Sam was out. In which case, kudos. That would have explained James’ not opening the door for him when he knocked.

There was a louder sound just then, something more pained than pleasure, and a muffled “stop” that was barely audible. He took off toward the noise without giving it a second thought. 

James’ bedroom door was slightly cracked and from here, Sam could clearly tell that he was in distress.

He placed his hand on the door and called James’ name to no avail. 

“James, are you ok?” he asked a bit louder. “I’m coming in, alright?” he asked in earnest before pushing the door open. He moved cautiously as if approaching a deer in the woods. The former Winter Soldier likely had a gun or Crocodile Dundee sized knife tucked under his pillow.

When he made it over to the bed, Sam noticed three things: 1) James was, in fact, asleep. 2) He was writhing and making noises of distress, punctuated by the occasional “no” or “stop.” 3) He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite having a lower body temp than most and he was nearly naked save for a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs

Admittedly, the first thing he thought was, _Hmm, briefs, interesting choice. Not a bad one though. Who would wanna hide those thighs?_

His second thought was that he was a horrible person for that first thought. 

And Sam’s third thought was _this has to be a nightmare._ Sam knew them all too well. He also knew to not to yell or try to jostle James awake, lest he end up with a knife to his throat or a gun to his temple.

Instead, he let his hands hover over Bucky’s face just a moment before gently smoothing the other man’s hair back from where sweat had stuck it to his forehead.

It was easy, touching James like this. But it was far too gentle and far too intimate. And while it didn’t quite as if he was violating the man, he knew, beyond a doubt, that they weren’t close enough for this. Not yet. Maybe they never would be if things kept going in their current trajectory.

Before long Sam was sitting on the edge of James’ bed, stroking his damp hair, shushing him softly. He could just curl up right here at James’ side. There was a perfect little space for him to tuck in right there under— _NOPE! Stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200._ This was not happening. 

Soon after James had stilled and his breathing returned to normal, Sam figured it was as good a time as any to bail. So, he slowly stood, moved his hand from the other man’s head, and started backing up toward the door.

“Sam?” James asked, voice thick with sleep. Sam winced.

He had two choices: stop, answer, and inevitably explain why he was there at all, or run from the room like a coward and pretend this whole thing never happened. Continuing the current theme of his life at the moment, he took the latter option and scurried before James even knew he was there.

_Never again._

**Bucky Barnes**

Bucky hadn’t had a nightmare since Wakanda, but they were always the same; Pierce or Zola or some other nameless handler shoving him into that goddamn chair and laughing as he screamed through a memory wipe that lasted forever.

He hated that goddamned chair. Even when he was fully consumed by the effects of Hydra’s programming, he would flinch at the sight of it. The very mention of it was enough of a threat to get him in line whenever he’d been out of the freezer too long.

Since Wakanda’s blessed technology and world-renowned psychologists had freed him of said brainwashing and his vulnerability to the trigger words, he was 100% better at shaking himself out of those HYDRA-related nightmares. Which was exactly what had happened about two minutes ago.

He’d awakened from a particularly shitty nightmare to the sound of Sam at his door once again, but this time, Sam announced himself and walked in. He’d probably heard the usual sounds Bucky made during nightmares, and come running. A regular Captain Save-a-Hoe, he was. 

Rather than speak up and let Sam know that he was ok, Bucky decided to see how far his new captain was going to go with this. He continued moaning and squirming sporadically as if he were still in a dream-state. Since then, he’d been lavishing in Sam’s need to mother-hen everything that moved whilst simultaneously feeding his touch-starvation. It was a win-win. For him anyway.

Bucky was currently having his hair stroked by Sam Wilson, after crying himself to sleep over the man only a few hours prior. He lavished in the careful caresses and soothing noises Sam was making. It almost made him want to forgive the guy for breaking his heart. Almost. 

He continued to whimper nonsense rather convincingly for another minute or so before pretending to return to a peaceful sleep. Sam continued his ministrations for another moment before removing his hand from Bucky’s forehead and standing to leave. 

He supposed he should say something now to let Sam know he’d been awake for that tender display of affection. Then again, _fuck that._ It was high time he took his chance to be petty. Instead of coming clean, he took it a step further. He called Sam’s name in his best sleepy moan, assuming the other man would either return to his side and explain his reasons for being in Bucky’s room at 2:30 am, or try to sneak out before Bucky saw him. Either way, how embarrassing for him. 

Sam chose the latter option and Bucky had to clasp his flesh hand over his mouth to keep from cracking up. 

Now, all he had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity to throw this little tidbit in Sam’s face. 

Talk about a transference of energies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for these two idiots to get together already? I know I am!
> 
> Unfortunately, it's called a slow burn for a reason. 
> 
> Please don't hate me, I do it because I love you ;-)


	8. A Certain Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is bitchy when he doesn't get his beauty sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Sam's POV
> 
> It gets real hand-wavey with the soul stone so bear with me and don't think about it too hard. I needed the soul realm to make this work.

October 13th

**Sam Wilson**

Staying up all night had proven a severe miscalculation on Sam’s part. He regretted not settling for those measly three hours in favor of watching old re-runs of The Office. 

It was a level of exhaustion he hadn’t felt in some time. His head was all foggy and he was dizzy as hell. His equilibrium just felt… off. It was like a hangover and it put him in the worst mood ever. Add to that, the abject embarrassment he’d suffered a few hours prior. Sleep deprivation had made him considerably paranoid that James was on to him, that he knew Sam had been in his room, stroking his hair like some kind of creeper. 

His only respite was the fact that James hadn’t mentioned it at all and appeared to be in the highest of spirits.

As a matter of fact, he had greeted Sam with a wide grin and a freakishly cheery disposition earlier that morning, just as Sam was desperately guzzling coffee as black and bitter as his soul felt. In contrast, James was practically giddy, which only made Sam livid. He’d offered to drive them to the Triskelion because, “no sense in takin’ two cars to the same place, right?” Then he’d smiled and nudged Sam playfully with his elbow.

Sam had wanted to drop kick him in that moment, but instead, he’d plastered on his best fake smile and gritted out, “sure, thanks.” 

That is how the Falcon (because he was holding on to that as long as he could) and the Winter Soldier ended up sitting silently in a Quin Jet, (im)patiently waiting for the great and powerful Captain Marvel, who was already two minutes late. 

Sam hated tardiness and this day, he loathed it. 

James was sitting on the other side of the plane, scrolling on his phone, whistling some merry tune with his feet propped up on the seat next to him.

“Sorry about that, boys,” Carol called as she strode up the ramp into the plane. 

“Everything alright?” James asked and Sam rolled his eyes as if the question had offended him in some way.

“Yeah, just a small issue with the SWORD satellite,” Carol shrugged as if a problem with a multi-billion-dollar satellite could ever be considered a “small issue.”

“Please tell me we have sat-imaging, Carol,” he griped.

“Sorry,” she had the decency to wince. “Adam is working on it, but there’s no guarantee it’ll be up before Sunday. We have drones, though. And there’s also the Avengers satellite, whenever it’s in position,” she added nonchalantly. “Friday, if you will.” 

The A.I. complied by lifting the ramp and beginning pre-flight procedures. Lights flickered on and off and switches flipped on their own accord. 

Sam scrubbed a hand over his weary face, already completely and thoroughly done with Carol’s bullshit at one minute into this mission. “Drones that we’ll have to pilot ourselves, means someone will always have to be awake.” He quickly glanced around the plane. “Uh, where are my wings?”

“Sorry, Cap. Tactical Recon means no wings. And Friday can pilot your drones.” she pointed out. 

The fact that he’d gone from semi-useless to wholly useless in a matter of seconds only made him seethe further. “Since when?” he asked indignantly, disregarding the cheeky ‘Cap’ comment.

“You’re not blatantly recognizable as yourself, but everyone knows those wings. We can’t let Von Doom know that SHEILD or the Avengers are watching him in an official capacity. Plus, drones can’t be killed, you two, can,” she gestured between him and James. “This is a covert mission, low-profile, as in, no leaving the immediate perimeter.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam protested. “What if something goes down and we need to step in?”

Carol huffed and placed her hand, pointedly, on her hip. “ _Re. Con._ That’s it, that’s all.”

Sam clenched his teeth and tried to keep from exploding but the fuse was lit. That’s when James decided to make himself useful by asking the obvious question, “So, if the sale actually goes down—”

“You call it in,” Carol replied and James sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. 

At least Sam wasn’t alone in his displeasure. He rolled his eyes and huffed petulantly. Under normal, well-rested circumstances, this whole back and forth would have spurned a tennis match of teasing remarks and good-natured ribbing, but Sam was in no mood.

“If this… Doom guy is so dangerous,” James argued, “why we bein’ dropped off and picked up like we’re goin’ to a playdate? What if we need to leave in a hurry?”

“There is no imminent threat, these are all precautions. Doom is a genius—maybe smarter than Tony—and we don’t know what he’s got hiding in those mountains or what he wants with those Ultron bodies. Now,” said Carol, pulling up a holographic map from her tablet, “here’s where the safe house is,” she pointed, “here’s Doom’s compound,” she circled an area of the Latverian capital, “and this is the drop and extraction point.”

Sam wasn’t too tired to catch a glaring issue with her plan. “Hold up,” he interjected, using his fingers to zoom in to the map on his tablet, “Why the hell is the drop zone so far away from the safe house? That’s like—”

“It’s only three miles, Sam,” James smirked back at him, “Can’t handle a brisk hike through Sokovian woods?”

Usually, Sam would have responded with a something clever, but at the moment, he had the overwhelming desire to punch James in the throat. 

Sam ground his teeth so hard, it made his head throb. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” he muttered. It was no use trying to dissuade Carol. His best bet was to get some sleep for the next 7 hours (or less depending on Carol’s mood). 

“Pre-flight checks complete, Captain. Please be seated for take-off,” Friday chirped.

Carol took her seat in the cockpit with James just behind her and Sam settled into a seat toward the back of the jet and dug around his duffel bag for his neck pillow. He was barely awake long enough to feel the effects of the jet’s vertically ascend before sleep finally claimed him. Hopefully he’d feel better when they landed.

 

He did not feel better when they landed. Thanks to Carol flying like she was a stunt flyer for Top Gun or a goddamn Blue Angel, his nap had been restless and fraught with violent, jerky movements. All in all, he’d gotten around three hours of sleep total and he was less than thrilled about it.

They unloaded their gear and Carol handed them each a small manila envelope. “Just some odds and ends; passports, pocket money. Just in case,” she winked.

“We got some weapons just in case shit hits the fan during this _very essential and dangerous mission?”_ Sam asked dryly.

Carol sighed. “Weapons are being delivered to the safe house via drones, as we speak. Any other questions, grumpy guss?”

James chucked at the moniker and Sam… well, Sam finally lost his shit.

“Why the fuck are we here, Carol, seriously? This _mission,_ ” he added with air-quotes, “is some bullshit and you know it. This is a job for satellites and drones or the Iron Legion. SWORD could do this from the Peak after the sats are repaired, SHIELD could do this from their satellites. What the fuck is even the point of long-range drones and A.I. and all this other expensive ass bullshit?” He gestured to the jet.

“You done?” Carol crossed her arms and lifted her chin.

“All I’m sayin’ is, this op is some bullshit,” he continued.

“You said that already, Wilson.”

“You gonna tell me why the fuck I’m here then?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

“Sam,” James hissed warningly, grabbing his arm. 

“Get off me, man.” Sam jerked away and fixed his eyes on Carol. 

“…no,” Carol answered flatly.

_Aww, hell naw!_ “Excuse me?”

She strode up to Sam until her face was inches away from his, albeit a few inches lower. “When you become leader of the Avengers,” she spat, pointing at him, “you can send whomever on whatever missions you deem necessary. Until that time, I am the leader of this team and I have tasked you with this operation which you complete. Is that understood, Sergeant?”

Her tone was overly soft and condescending and Sam felt his pulse quicken. He could hear it too. Who the fuck did she think she was? Pulling rank on him as if they were both still on active duty? 

As much as he wanted to go toe to toe with her, a screaming match in the middle of the woods would be inadvisable. The last thing they needed was an international incident. So, Sam scraped up every drop of self-control he could muster. “Roger that, _Captain,”_ he growled through clenched teeth, and stormed off in the general direction of the safe house, leaving James to get the last of the debrief from Carol.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps behind him but he didn’t bother making sure it was James. If it wasn’t, and they killed him, at least he would get some fucking rest. His only concern was getting to the shitty safe house for a few hours of shut-eye before he inevitably murdered someone in a fit of rage.

“You ok, man?” James asked softly.

“Fine.”

“Y’don’t _seem_ fine, Sam.”

“I dunno what you want me to say, man. I’m—” he paused to maneuver to around a large rock in his path, “fine.”

“You hangry or somethin’? I think I got one of those hard ass granola bars you like,” James tried as he dug into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

“Not hungry.”

“Then why’d you flip out on Carol like that?”

“She started it.”

“Mmm, ok. She didn’t but let’s say she did. Do you think it made sense to argue with her about a mission? It’s not like she was gonna call the damn thing off just because you feel like its… _beneath you_ or whatever.”

Beneath him? He hadn’t even thought about it like that. A waste of time and resources was what it was. Nothing could possibly be _beneath him,_ seeing as he was the least powerful Avenger, right? Was James implying that he was being arrogant? Irrational? That he had no right to feel what he was feeling?

“Fuck you, Barnes,” he spat. The footsteps behind him stopped.

“We back at Barnes then, huh?”

“Guess so,” Sam shot back, leaving James behind.

“I wasn’t Barnes last night.”

He stopped in his tracks, allowing James to catch up and strut past him without sparing a second glance.

So, now he knew that James knew that he was in his room last night. How long had he been awake? _God,_ did that even matter? He’d violated the man’s space and touched him without permission. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered at the other man’s back, knowing his enhanced hearing would pick it up. 

James stopped, looked up at the steadily darkening sky, and sighed. “You got nothin’ to be sorry about, Sam. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I thought you were having a nightmare. I was… worried. Mine are so—” he hung his head, considering the leaf-covered dirt under his boots and shuddered at the thought of his recent dreams. Since his return to the land of the living, his dreams had been unlike anything he’d experienced prior. Different in a way he wasn’t sure was good or bad—perplexing was a better word for them. He couldn’t remember his dreams the morning after, but his emotions would be all over the place. He’d get flashes throughout the day, sometimes of Reilly, sometimes his father or his cousin Ricky who’d died when they were both 19. All of them, shrouded in a bright golden-orangey aura. He wasn’t sure what it meant, or even who he should talk to about it. Strange would probably be his best bet, but he’d been on some interdimensional journey since just after Tony’s funeral. _Interdimensional._ No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t fully wrap his head around the concept.

When he looked up James was right there, less than a foot away, looking down at him uneasily. Hands clenched then opened at his side as if they wanted to reach up and touch him. Sam wanted him to. He’d used up the last of his self-control walking away from Carol. 

“Mine are bad too,” James murmured, “since—”

“Yeah.”

He was so close Sam could make out the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Puffs of smoke left his mouth with each exhale.

Sam could (should) make the first move, right here, right now. Reach out and touch him. Make up for that couch debacle. He wanted to. He wanted—

“It’s gettin’ cold,” James blurted, bringing him out of his daydream. “We should get to the house.” 

“Yeah,” was all Sam managed to say.

After a minute or so of walking side by side in unbearably uncomfortable silence, Sam decided to speak up.

“I know you said I don’t need to apologize, but I do,” he explained. “I entered your space without and touched you without your permission. It was—just… I’m sorry.”

James had the audacity to laugh. A chuckle so hearty, he had to stop walking. 

“Glad you find this so funny.”

“Sam,” James smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, “you have my permission to touch me in any and all circumstances you deem necessary,” he insisted. “That work for you?”

“What? No, I—”

“No? You don’t wanna touch me?” his smile mutated into a devious smirk.

_Boy, you have no idea._ “I didn’t say that.”

“So, you _do_ wanna touch me?”

Sam stood there, mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to answer that question. Every cell in his body was screaming _yes,_ but the correct answer was _no._

“I didn’t say that,” he said instead, before walking off. James followed suit.

“Care to tell me what the hell is wrong with you then?”

“I’m just” _sleep deprived from staying up all night pining after you,_ “tired, is all. You know how I get,” he tried.

“Yeah, sure,” James nodded, less than convinced.

The rest of the walk to the safehouse was silent aside from the various nature sounds all around them. It was another 20 minutes before they came upon a literal cabin in the woods. 

“This ain’t bad,” James said as he pushed the door open. “Better than Hydra’s shitholes.”

“Let’s not use Hydra as the standard for anything, ok.” Sam dropped his bag and took note of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. It was an odd layout. The couch was a hideous, uncomfortably stiff-looking number that looked straight out of the world’s shittiest motel, _probably a pull-out,_ he noted. Hopefully, the bed was more inviting. The kitchen itself was small, more of a kitchenette, really. Minimal counter space, few cabinets, an electric stove with only two-burners, an ancient microwave, and one of those short refrigerators that only had one door to share between freezer and fridge, which was thankfully full of water and electrolyte replenishing beverages. The cabinets were full of Top Ramen, jerky, canned fruits and veggies, and— _ugh_ —MREs. He certainly did not miss those from his days in the Air Force. 

James was inspecting the small dining area on the other side of the living room where all the surveillance monitors were housed. “Looks like everything’s here,” he called from the other room.

“Great, where are the drones?”

“Roof, I think,” James mused, contemplating to the ceiling. 

“I’ll get ‘em,” Sam volunteered but James scrambled and placed his hand on the doorknob first.

“I’ll grab it. Why don’t you get some sleep, I got this watch,” he offered.

Sam reckoned he should take the man’s advice. He was dead on his feet and it was only a matter of time before his momentary good nature wore off and he was back to being an asshole. This man, the man he’d been losing sleep over all week, he didn’t deserve that.

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. 6:30 pm and he hadn’t eaten much of anything but he was too tired to thin, much less eat. James gave him a small smile before dashing out the front door. 

Sam picked up his duffel bag and made his way to the back of the house. There was only one bedroom, because _of course there was,_ and the once bathroom was directly across the hall. He poked his head in the door of the narrow space. It was so small, Sam wagered he could piss in the toilet from the stand-up shower with little fuss.

The bedroom was tiny as well, no bigger than his walk-in closet at home. The queen-size bed took up most of the room. The naked box spring and mattress sat atop a generic bedframe. _At least it’s clean,_ he thought. Towels, sheets, and pillows found in the linen closet, were tossed onto the bed.

Sam dug into his duffel bag for clean clothes, startled a bit when he heard James’ heavy footsteps on the roof. His gait wasn’t delicate. In fact, when he wasn’t being purposely stealthy he just, sort of, trudged around, which shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. The way he strode effortlessly into a fight, hips swaying, oozing confidence, bulletproof. Natasha had dubbed it, the “Murder Strut” and the name stuck.

After the quickest, lukewarm shower, Sam flopped onto the bed in a pair of navy pajama pants and a red US Air Force t-shirt. The cheap sheets were stiff, but smelled freshly washed so he couldn’t really complain about the lack of thread count. 

Sleep was all but clawing at him now, threatening to pull him under so, he let it.

 

What felt like an instant later, Sam blinked and found himself awake, staring up at an endless orange abyss. He was… wet, more like submerged. Mostly. He blinked a few more times to get his eyes to focus as he sat up in a shallow body of water that seemed to go on forever. It was warm like a heated pool.

Sam stood and looked around. There was nothing around as far as he could see and the entire area was bathed in the telltale golden-orangey glow from his post-blip dreams. This was a dream.

Though the colors were recognizable, place was foreign to him. And yet he wasn’t panicked or afraid. It was familiar in some distant was that he couldn’t place. He’d been here before. But where, exactly, was here?

He looked down to find his clothing had changed. Now, he was wearing a white v-neck and sage-green cargo shorts. The same shorts he’d given away to Goodwill years ago when he moved from his place in DC, to the compound. They’d been his favorite shorts; soft and well-worn, a little ratty. He’d worn them the day Reilly proposed at his mother’s house. Right there on the patio in front of his family during the annual Wilson family 4th of July barbeque. 

He kept the ring in a box now. Tucked away in a drawer he rarely opened. Too brokenhearted to wear it, too stuck in the past to get rid of it.

Sam spun around to find an enclosed, wooden platform had appeared miraculously out of thin air. Sitting there on the water as if it had always been there. He definitely would have noticed if it were, though. 

There was a man, leaning against the railing, facing away from him.

“Hello?” Sam called, but the man didn’t turn around. Against his better judgement, he stepped forward.

As Sam stepped up on the deck, he regarded the man before him. He was taller than him by 2 inches, at least. Dirty blond hair cut close on the sides with loose curls on top. He wore a white henley and khakis. The way he was leaning was so familiar, left hip was slightly jutted out as he had most of his weight on his right leg.

_From an... injury. Afghanistan. A firefight. He was shot._ Sam recalls screaming for a medic, holding the man as he bled onto the dusty concrete.

_It’s gonna be ok, baby. I’m here. I’m right here,_ he’d whispered low enough for only the other man to hear, holding him as went into shock.. 

The mystery man turned and smiled. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam nearly crumbled right there. It was some force of divine power that got him and across the deck to close the distance between them. 

“Reilly?” He sobbed, grabbing the man’s face. “Are you—Is this real?”

“I’m here.”

Their embrace was crushing and Sam sobbed into his fiancé’s shoulder until he was short of breath. All the while Reilly held him tight and rubbed his back, periodically whispering things Sam couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real. 

He separated just far enough to look up at his love. “How?” he whispered.

“We’re in the Soul Realm, Sammy,” Reilly explained softly.

“But I went to sleep. I’m dreaming,” he tried to reason.

“This isn’t a… normal dream. Once you’ve been affected by the stones, you’re forever linked. The Soul stone can call you here whenever necessary.”

God, this shit just got weirder and weirder. The magic space rocks were sentient now?

“So… why are you in here? You never came in contact with the stones.”

“Anyone’s consciousness can be projected in the Soul Realm. Every soul that’s ever existed.”

“You’re so… real,” Sam said as he caressed his former lover’s face.

Reilly nodded as he placed his hand over Sam’s.

“But, no— Thanos—he destroyed them.”

“The stones can’t be destroyed, love. He reduced them to atoms but they still exist. This realm still exists.”

Well, that made sense. Right? It didn’t matter. Reilly was here. He was right here in front of him. He could touch him, smell him. It should have been too much for his mind to comprehend, but he was eerily calm, which could only mean a panic attack was just around the corner.

“Why am I here though?” He asked. “Why’d the stone… summon me? I’m not about to die on this bullshit mission, am I?”

“No, of course not. We just… needed to talk,” Reilly explained. “But first—” 

He grabbed the back of Sam’s neck and closed the inches between them, slamming their mouths together. Sam melted into it, slipping his hands into his lover’s hair as Reilly parted his lips with a slick tongue, licking into his mouth. It was hungry. Insistent. Sam’s whole body was on fire. When Reilly finally pulled away, he mourned the loss.

Arousal turned quickly into guilt as Sam recalled the last day he’d kissed Reilly like this.

“I’m so sorry, Rei,” Sam backed up into the rail. “It’s my fault you’re—“

“Finish that sentence, and I just might fight you.”

“It was my mission, Reilly. I called the positions. I put you in harm’s way. I killed you.”

His first Falcon assignment as Mission Commander. The last big one before they were supposed to go on leave for their wedding. Sam was the one who set the drop zone, the formations, everything. Reilly was dead because Sam put him in position to die. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing would make it ok.

“You didn’t shoot me down. That mission should’ve never happened. We had bad intel,” Reilly posed.

“Or I underestimated the target.”

“Sam—” 

“No!” Sam was shocked at the way his voice echoed in the endless space.

Reilly cast his eyes downward. “There’s nothing I can say. Is there?”

This man knew him so well. “Nope.”

“Be that as it may, you can’t blame yourself forever, ” he said, grabbing Sam’s hands. “You can’t live like that, no one can. You gotta let me go.”

_Move on?_ Sam snatched his hands back, affronted. All the training he’d gone through to council vets on loss, regret, and trauma, was forgotten in that instant. 

“You can’t ask me to do that,” he shook his head.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m dead, Sammy. I’m not coming back. Ever.”

Though he knew this to be fact, a chill ran down Sam’s spine. He couldn’t bring Reilly back with him. He couldn’t raise him from the dead. He couldn’t snap his fingers and bring him back with the stones. When he left this place, this realm, he may never return. He may never see Reilly like this again. The lump in his throat ached as tears filled his eyes once more.

Reilly took both Sam’s hands back in his own and looked him in the eye. “I need you to do something for me. It’s very important. You have to promise me you’ll do it,” he pleaded.

“Anything, baby.”

“Let me go,” Reilly whispered, “you need to be free so you can love again.”

Sam just stared at the wooden planks under his feet. 

“That’s why you’re so empty, Sam. You’re pining for me, but I’m gone.”

“Stop sayin’ that.”

“It’s the truth, Sam. You have this gaping hole inside you where our love used to be. You have to move on or you’ll rot away.”

“Its—”

“You won’t be able to give yourself to him until you _let me go,”_ Reilly said abruptly. 

_What? No._ Sam wasn’t in love with anyone else. He loved Reilly. He was still _in love_ with Reilly. 

“You deserve to be happy,” his fiancé begged. He cradled Sam’s face in his hand and Sam turned into it and kissed Reilly’s palm. “At least try… for me.”

“I could never love anyone like I love you,” Sam muttered at the floor.

Reilly grabbed his face, “look at me, Sam.”

Sam complied, raising his head. It seemed there were some tears left for him to cry. They streamed down his cheeks and were promptly wiped away by the love of his life.

“How did you know I—”

“The stone knows all,” Reilly smiled, soft and sad. His hands moved back down to Sam’s. “He’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“Who?”

“James.”

“He’s aight,” he shrugged and Reilly had the nerve to laugh. It brought a short, sad chuckle out of Sam. “I can’t though. We’re—” 

“Teammates, I know. But that’s bullshit, you know that, right? I mean, you and I were in a relationship the whole time we were stationed together.”

“This is different,” Sam blindly defended himself.

“It’s literally the same situation.”

Working a dangerous job together, constantly having to watch each other’s six. Putting their lives on the line for a greater purpose. Ok, so it was the same but that hadn’t turned out so well before—

“He likes you,” Reilly smiled, “a lot actually. He’ll be good to you if you let him.”

Sam wanted to let him. He wanted to be just as good in turn. It was all he could think about that week. Now, Reilly himself was offering his blessing. That had to mean something. It had to be a good sign. 

“But what if—What if I’m not a good leader and I put him in danger?” Sam whispered. 

“You won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because now, you know how it feels. I reckon it’s not something you wanna feel again,” Reilly pointed out.

“That’s an understatement.”

Reilly pulled him into a soft, chaste kiss. “You have to go now, babe. You’re waking up.”

“No—no, you can’t. I—”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Reilly—”

“You’re gonna be a great Captain America, Sammy.”

A moment later, Sam was stirring awake in the bed at the safehouse, Reilly’s kiss lingering on his lips. He sat up and tried to catch his breath. 

_James._ He needed to talk to James. 

Sam vaulted from the bed to the door in one fluid motion, pulling it open with the utmost urgency. What he found in the hall froze him where he stood.

“Oh—uh… hey. I was just—you were talking in your sleep and I was—y’know, thin walls ‘n shit,” James stammered.

“I’m fine… now,” Sam replied, still panting. 

James’ eyes darted around the narrow hallway. “Oooook then, I’ll just—”

“Come sit with me for a minute, Buck,” Sam requested before returning to the bedroom. 

He sat down on the bed as Bucky appeared in the doorway. Sam motioned for the man to take a seat which he did, about a foot away, causing the bed to dip under his weight. 

“You called me Buck,” Bucky murmured. 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm officially upgrading this fic from slow burn to... medium burn? I thought up a plot twist but I need them together to make it work. The next chapter will likely be mostly smut.
> 
> Also, for reference, I imagine Reilly looking like Ryan Phillippe in Shooter.


	9. Tidal Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Sam's Soul Realm vision.
> 
> All Bucky's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, way ahead of schedule.
> 
> You guys deserve some smut.

**Bucky Barnes**

October 14th

Just to recap the absurdity of his life in the last couple weeks: he’d come out to Sam then to a room full of people, most of which he barely knew. He caught feelings for Sam, flirted shamelessly, took him on a date that ended horribly, tried (and failed) to kiss him, avoided him for a few days, cooked him dinner, tried to confess his feelings, got shot down like a B 24 bomber, punched two holes in the wall, woke up to Sam in his bed whispering sweet nothings, and survived the most aggressive fit of exhaustion he’d ever witnessed.

That’s how he ended up here; sitting on a bed, just after midnight, in a safe house somewhere in the woods near the Sokovia-Latveria border, with Sam, who’s sitting less than a foot away. So close Bucky can smell the lavender vanilla body wash and lotion he’d used a few hours ago. 

He simultaneously loves and hates being this close to Sam. On one hand, it’s Sam. Bucky would follow this man to the ends of the earth if he asked real nice. On the other hand, he wants the man so bad he’s pretty sure Sam can smell it on him. All in all, it makes for a pretty awkward situation.

“So… what’d you wanna talk about?” Bucky asks after Sam lets a near-uncomfortable amount of time pass without speaking.

“Just… gimme a sec, please.”

Bucky folds his hands in his lap, takes a breath, and ventures to sit perfectly still while Sam collects his thoughts. He’s not about to fuck this up (again)

“That night on the couch, I wanted to kiss you,” Sam says finally. “I should have but I couldn’t. I was so deep in my own head, overthinking everything, doubting myself. Not just about you, but what’d happened that night, with those kids… it kinda fucked up me up.”

“I wanted to kiss you too, Sam.” Oh hell, who’s he kidding? He still wants to taste Sam’s lips (among other… things). His peripheral vision drifts to Sam’s lips, then quickly back to the door directly in front of him.

“Us being teammates,” Sam continues, “it adds an extra layer of…complications.”

“Complications?”

Sam chews hip bottom a bit before continuing and Bucky remembers that he often does that when he’s deep in thought. 

“The mission that killed Reilly, it was my first mission leading the Falcons. I called the shots, I chose the positions, the drop zone, everything. I put him in harm’s way,” Sam explains.

 _Oh, this beautiful, tortured man._ To be haunted by the weight of believing you’ve killed your lover, even Bucky with his admittedly high body count, can’t fathom it. 

What he does next takes every bit of courage; he slowly slides his vibranium hand off his lap and over Sam’s. “You didn’t kill him,” he tries. 

Sam shakes his head like this isn’t up for debate. “If I hadn’t put him in that spot, he’d still be here. I might as well have pulled the trigger.”

“Sam—”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this,” Sam interrupts him. “What happened to Reilly, it’s part of the reason I put off this Cap shit for so long.”

_Makes sense._

“It’s also the reason I couldn’t kiss you.”

He tries to add it up in his head but, no dice. When Sam notices how Bucky’s face is scrunched in confusion, he continues on.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I... lost you... the way I lost him. If I'm Captain America--if I'm calling the shots and you--" His voice cracked a bit and he cut himself off.

"You're not gonna lose me, Sam," he says, squeezing the other's hand. "I promise. I'm here to protect you, not the other way around."

Sam turns to look at him and they lock eyes for a moment that seems to stop time. He smiles, small and bashful when they finally turn away from each other.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m a bit of a romantic,” Sam confesses. “I’m not a huge fan of booty calls, one-night stands, _situationships._ I like having a boyfriend, I like being a boyfriend. I enjoy relationships. The honeymoon phase, the first argument, the comfortable phase when we both gain like, 20 pounds, all of it.”

Something tells Bucky to look down at his hand. He sees that Sam intertwined their fingers at some point. When he looks back up, Sam is staring at him expectantly.

“Huh?”

“I asked if that’s something you’d be interested in. I mean, with me,” Sam adds unnecessarily. 

He is not 100% certain what he’s interested in. There’s something between them for sure, but he hasn’t been in an actual relationship since Beth Johnson in 1940. Even that only lasted a few months. 

He is sure of a few things though, he would be around this man 24/7 if given the opportunity. He wants to protect him, to keep anything from corrupting his perfection. Sam is his first thought when he wakes up in the morning and his last thought before he drifts off at night. Sam is strong and smart and generous. He’s caring and funny and spontaneous. Bucky wants _that_ and he wants it for longer than a few months. He wants it indefinitely.

“If I say yes,” he smirks, feeling particularly brave, “do I get to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugs.

“Hmm, I dunno. I might need to think it ov—”

He’s cut off by soft lips against his own. The shock of it all fades in an instant and he just _melts._ His first real kiss in 80 years and _Goddamn,_ it is worth the wait. The whole thing is tender and exploratory—just Sam’s mouth on his. Subtle micro-movements and tremors he wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t so intensely focused on it. Sam’s hand works its way up to his cheek and now every nerve in his body is vibrating. He outright whimpers and Sam smiles against his lips before he can even feel embarrassed about it.

When Sam pulls away, it takes his eyes a moment to focus.

“More,” Bucky murmurs, “more of that.”

“We got all the time in the world,” Sam smiles and runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “You and me are about to be thrust into the spotlight very soon and… I’m ready for the public outrage, the racists, the homophobes, the pointless comparisons to Steve. I’ve more or less wrapped my head around all that, but you just got your life back. You’ve been slandered, framed, hunted and persecuted, and that’s all since you escaped from Hydra. I don’t wanna be the reason your name is dragged through the mud again. I don’t care what they say about me, but you don’t deserve to go through that public stigma again.”

Even with all the bullshit Sam is about to experience, he’s worried about Bucky’s reputation. _God, why is that so fucking sexy?_

“I don’t care what people say about me, doll.”

“You say that now but—hold up, did you just call me _doll?”_ Sam laughs and it’s music to his ears.

“Shut up. You love it,” he mutters, taking Sam’s hand in his once more. “Only approval I need is yours.”

“God, when did we become so sappy?”

“Like, two minutes ago. Pretty sure you were there,” Bucky jokes, stroking Sam’s fingers with a vibranium thumb. “You ever wish we’d stayed the way we were?”

“You mean the constant snide remarks and teasing undercut by rampant sexual tension? Fuck no.”

_Rampant, indeed._

“But,” Sam continues, “that was easy. This… thing we’re doing, won’t be.”

Sam is probably (definitely) right about that. In addition to Captain America specific criticism, their… thing would be under constant scrutiny. “So… now what?”

“Now,” Sam says, rising from the bed, “I’m fuckin’ starving. C’mon sexy face, I’ll make you some Top Ramen.”

 

An hour later, after Bucky has ingested ungodly amounts sodium and MSG, he’s leaning on the kitchen counter, watching Sam slurp his noodles from the Styrofoam cup. It shouldn’t make his insides tingle or his face warm, but Sam jus has that effect on him.

“So, full disclosure,” Sam says out of nowhere before tossing the empty cup in the trash can. “I hooked up with someone that night you cooked dinner.”

_Oh. Ok. This is fine, right? Of course, why wouldn’t it be? They weren’t even a thing back then. Right, so stop being mad, asshole._

“Oh?” He kicks himself for sounding so obviously bothered. He doesn’t have a right to be jealous. “A friend of yours?” _Get it together Barnes._

“No, I just kinda picked him up.” At least Sam has the decency to look ashamed. "He's a good guy, Chase. We're friends now, but it'll never be more than that."

"Sure."

“If it makes you feel any better, I only did it 'cause I was trying not to think about you.”

“Did it work?” He asks, grabbing their used forks from the counter and walking over to the sink.

He’s done washing the two forks in a few seconds, but before he can back away from the sink, two arms appear on both sides, bracketing him to it. There’s an unmistakable heat at his back and warm breath on his neck.

“Not even a little,” Sam whispers against the nape of his neck.

Bucky is a little jealous but he can’t remember why with all the blood in his brain rushing south. He lets out a shaky breath when Sam kisses the top of his spine, 

“Don’t you wanna know what we did? Me and the guy?” Sam mouths against his skin.

“No,” Bucky breathes, grasping the sink.

“He sucked me off. Took me in his mouth ‘til I came down his throat, moaning your name.” He bites at one tender earlobe.

Bucky doesn’t remember closing his eyes but they’re staying that way. The vision of Sam moaning and writhing in ecstasy while another man sucks him off. He doesn’t know why it turns him on but it does. His cock is paying attention too apparently. He bucks his hips without thinking, saddened when he feels almost nothing through his tactical pants.

“I wanted it to be you, James.”

“I c—I can do that.”

“You think so?” Sam asks as he grinds against Bucky’s ass and, _oh my god,_ those sweats are doing nothing to contain his substantial hard on.

“Uh huh.” It comes out as an obscene sound Bucky didn’t even know he was capable of making.

“Turn around,” Sam commands. The urgency in his voice sends a jolt of arousal straight to his balls. 

“Turn around, baby,” Sam says again and Bucky complies this time.

 _“Fuck,_ Sam.”

“You feel that?” Sam asks, rolling his hips, “so hard for you, Buck.”

He finally opens his eyes. Sam is staring at him, pupils blown, practically panting and it’s thrilling that Sam is in this state because of him. The extra confidence prompts him to grab the back of Sam’s neck and plunder his mouth.

It’s nothing like their first kiss. That one was sweet and almost cautious. This kiss is voracious. It’s all lip-biting and tongue thrusting accented by soft moans and whispered expletives. Sam’s hands snake up to the top of his head where the hair is longest and pulls, separating their mouths by mere inches.

“Christ, Barnes,” Sam murmurs.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Bucky whines.

“’Cause you got too many clothes on,” he says, looking down at Bucky’s pants.

“Yeah, they’re pretty uncomfortable now,” the former assassin mouths against Sam’s cheek. Sam starts unbuttoning his pants and his pulse picks up. _Is this really happening? Holy shit, it’s happening._ His cock is practically jumping out of his pants. Sam is so close, touching him and his hands are virtually on his cock. Bucky feels a bit like he’s about to explode.

“You ok?” Sam asks as he undoes the last button. “I can stop if you—”

“No, I just—This is my first time. With a guy, I mean. I’ve never… gotten this far into it.”

Sam’s face goes from concerned to mortified in 1.5 seconds flat. “Oh my god. I didn’t even think about that. _Shit._ I’m so sorry, Buck. No pressure, ok? Just, whenever you’re ready. You don’t have to—”

“Sam,” Bucky grabs Sam’s hands and tries for a comforting smile to calm his nerves. “I’m… painfully on board with whatever is about to happen here.”

“That’s a physical reaction. You haven’t had sex in like 80 years, a strong gust of wind probably gets your dick hard.”

“Sam—”

“Look, I wanna do this—like, really, really bad,” he explains. 

Bucky chuckles. He wants to do it too. Clearly.

 _“But,”_ he continues. “I refuse to give you the D for the first time in some gross safehouse in _Sokovia_ of all places.”

Yeah, ok. Sam has a point. But his cock isn’t about to let it go so easily. Neither is Sam’s, from the looks of the tent in his sweats.

“Plus, I didn’t bring any lube,” Sam adds, looking disappointed like he should have somehow planned for this. “And you’re gonna need a lot of prep. Or me, or... whatever. I can still take care of you though… if you want,” he glances downward, where his hands have somehow returned to Bucky’s waistband.

The combination of curiosity and arousal causes his mouth to go dry. “Yeah, I uh—I think I’d be… cool… with that if you—”

Sam is on his knees before the words can make it from Bucky’s brain to his mouth. He peels the fitted pants down to his thighs and stops.

“Briefs?” he kind of chuckles.

“What’s wrong with briefs?”

“Nothing. Just… interesting choice,” he shrugs. “Good interesting. It works for you.”

“You wear Speedos, Sam.”

“Only to show off my thighs, it’s not like I’m in them all day. Don’t get defensive, baby, I like them on you,” he tries, sealing the deal with a soft kiss to Bucky’s thigh and any insecurities quickly dissipate.

“Relax,” Sam whispers, looking up at him. He gulps and nods.

Sam’s face is inches away from his cock and Bucky is 100% sure he’s never been so hard in his life. He bites his lip and suppresses a shudder when a little precum escapes, leaving a dark spot on his grey briefs. 

The next thing Sam does almost brings him to climax right then and there. Instead of relieving Bucky of his final layer, Sam proceeds to kiss, lick and suck at him through his underwear, making more wet spots to join the one he just made. 

“F—” he means to say _fuck_ but apparently, making words isn’t an option.

Sam drags his teeth along Bucky’s shaft and he has to cover his mouth to keep from crying out. Sam starts shifting below him and Bucky can tell he’s jerking himself even though he can’t see it.

“Can I make you cum like this?” Sam whispers.

Bucky means to answer in the resoundingly affirmative but Sam pulls his damp briefs down and kitten-licks some precum from the head of his cock. He throws his head back and moans too loudly.

“Uncut,” Sam muses, examining his uncircumcised length. Before he can ask if it’s a problem, his cock is sheathed in Sam’s mouth. Bucky’s hips stutter in uneven thrusts and he has to hold on to the counter with his metal hand to keep from buckling.

“S-S-Sam. _Jesus motherfucking Christ!_ What’re you doin’a me, baby?”

The former airman takes that as his cue to speed up and Bucky’s cock is hitting the back of Sam’s throat in quick succession. That familiar sensation is now building in his lower abdomen and it’s all too much.

He cums with a shout that fades into murmured repetition of the other man’s name as he continues to suck past the point of orgasm. Bucky’s legs are jelly and he wants to let them buckle, but he also wants Sam to keep doing that. A moment later, Sam cums on the linoleum floor with an absolutely debauched noise that Bucky wishes to hear played on a loop for the rest of his days.

Sam pulls up his undies, holds his hips and guides him to a seated position on the floor where Bucky proceeds to stare in amazement at the man before him.

“What?” Sam chuckles as if he didn’t just drain Bucky’s balls and all feeling in his legs along with them.

Bucky is still panting when he smirks and asks, “Can I keep you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will consist of the Stark foundation banquet where Sam is announced as the new Cap, some press conferences/interviews, photoshoots, fluff, more smut, Bucky cursing out internet trolls, Scott and Hope's wedding, and general Avengers badassness.
> 
> All of this will be promptly followed by the angstiest of angst so enjoy the positivity while it lasts.
> 
> I also changed the tense of the fic from past to present. I hope that wasn't distracting for anybody. I may or may not go back and change each chapter, we'll see.


	10. Mission (Im)possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doom is up to no good and Bucky has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit slow, there's a dash of fluff at the end though.

October 14th

After a thorough brushing of his teeth, Sam returns to the common room to find Bucky splayed out on the pull-out couch in Hawkeye PJs. It’s a sight he can’t help but smile at. This guy is feared around the world, but unbeknownst to the public, he’s the sweeter than molasses.

Sam grabs a plush blanket from the linen closet and drapes it over Bucky before heading over to their neglected little command center. 

“Any updates, Friday?”

“Nothing of note,” the A.I. chirps.

“Alright,” Sam sighs, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Let’s bring in all but one drone, keep it cloaked, circle the compound in 30-minute intervals, and use the Avengers satellite for supplemental visuals if needed. Send the other two drones to the nearest recharging station and just swap ‘em out every five hours.”

“Roger that.”

Doom’s compound is quiet and dark. As it should be at 2 am. There’s absolutely nothing going on besides the armed guards roving the perimeter, which isn’t particularly out of the ordinary for a palace. Even T’Challa has armed guards.

This mission is a waste of time and resources and he’d known it from the beginning. He sighs and leans back in the chair as his eyes find Bucky again. He’s now curled up in the blanket, tucked into a neat super soldier-sized ball.

They should take it slow. They _will_ take it slow. Sam is self-aware enough to know he’ll fall hard and fast if they jump in with both feet. Although, the time for that may have passed an hour ago when he let Bucky come in his mouth.

He discounts their kitchen encounter as all that built up lust coming to a head. Passion and urgency. Now that it’s out of their systems, they’ll be able to talk, establish boundaries, all that _fun_ stuff. 

They’ll probably have to tell the PR team. Probably Pepper too at the very least. Carol will likely figure it out on her own with that uncanny queer-sense she has and he’s gotta tell Jim.

As thrilled as Aimee and Joe had been about James’ sexuality, they’d probably want to milk this for all it’s worth. Soon, they’ll be doing couples photoshoots and interviews. Sam both relished and abhorred the thought. 

On one hand, Sam never enjoyed hiding his relationships. He’d much rather show his lovers off; dance together at parties, walk down the street holding hands. On the other hand, the conservative press would have a field day. It’s one thing to have the public acknowledge him as the new, black, gay Captain America, it’s entirely another thing for them to see the evidence of said gayness plastered all over the internet and TV. People will say that Captain America is pushing the “gay agenda”—which, _what even is that?_ Acceptance, living without fear, civil rights?

He is shaken from his thoughts by the sound of Friday’s smooth Irish brogue, “We’ve got action.”

He turns to the monitor displaying the Avengers satellite visuals, squinting as it zooms in. 

An 18-wheel semi-truck pulls up to the palace gates. a guard says something to the driver before opening the gates to let him in. Could be a food stores delivery, could be furniture or a vehicle, but Sam’s intuition is telling him it’s something far more nefarious. 

“Where’s my scan, Friday?”

“My x-ray scanners are being blocked,” she responds, a bit frustrated. “I need to get inside.”

“Fine. Activate Pym Particles,” Sam instructs. 

He watches the EDITH drone shrink down and turns to one of the other four monitors to see what she sees.

The ant-sized drone flies into a crack between the truck’s doors, displaying rows of wooden crates.

“Can you scan those, Friday?”

The A.I. responds by displaying the crates’ contents: Ultron parts and Chitauri tech.

“Fuck!” he hisses. “Didn’t Damage Control get all this shit?” 

“Apparently not,” Friday says softly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she sounds… disappointed.

“Call it in,” he instructs.

The hatch opens and the drone finds itself a perch and engages cloaking without him having to ask. A man with a skull cap and a dirt-smudged face emerges and he’s speaking to someone. 

“As you can see, Your Highness,” he says in a thick Latverian accent, “it’s all here… Does this please you, my king?”

The drone, still cloaked, flies toward the back of the truck to get a better view of the man.

Standing there in a thick, hooded, forest green robe, complete with opulent gold embellishments, is King Victor Von Doom, looking all too pleased with himself. He’s handsome, Sam notes. Tall, hazel-green eyes, and of thick, dark hair. His cheekbones are well-defined, as is his perfectly square jawline. Totally Sam’s type if he wasn’t, _y’know,_ a villainous monarch. 

“Doom is pleased,” he smiles wickedly and Sam rolls his eyes. Villains who speak in the third person are the absolute worst. It makes him markedly less attractive.

“Incoming call from Carol Danvers.”

Her face pops up on the far screen and he slides over to sit in front of it.

“Chitauri tech,” she says tiredly. For the first time since he’s known her, she looks exhausted.

“And Ultron parts.”

“This is not great, Sam.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She groans and rubs at the bridge of her nose. “I’ll come get you guys in the morning. We got what we need.”

“Carol, we can send in EDITH drones to blow up this fucking truck and end this shit now,” Sam suggests.

“We don’t know if he can identify our tech,” Carol explained. “Not to mention, we’re not even supposed to be spying on him. It’d be an international incident and we do not need the government up our asses with some new goddamn accords or registration act.”

True. Going in guns blazing could only end poorly in the long run, but…

“Gimme til Sunday, Danvers.”

“What?”

“Give us ‘til Sunday to come up with something. We may be able to find something useable.” When she doesn’t answer right away, he adds, “We were supposed to leave Sunday anyway.”

“Alright, Wilson. Find me something good.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“And I’m sorry about earlier,” Carol said, momentarily looking away from the camera, “I was outta line.”

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have challenged you like that,” he relents. “I’m a—a little ridiculous when I’m sleepy.”

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” Carol asks after a moment.

“M-my what?”

“I’m kidding,” Carol laughs, “I’m talking about Barnes, obviously.”

“Oh. Uh—he’s asleep.”

She goes on to ask him about the house and their trek through the woods and they decide she’ll pick them up in the clearing about a quarter-mile away from the cottage.

Friday takes the drone back to its spot orbiting the palace and Sam uses the downtime to grab a water. On his way to the fridge, he catches a glimpse of Bucky who has effectively become one with his blanket. Only his face is visible and its, hands down, the most adorable he’s ever been.

The hours crawl by and Sam keeps himself busy by perusing social media and playing pool on his phone against his usual opponent, Monica, who’s a dirty cheating cheater when it comes to cellphone billiards. 

Around 7:30 am, Bucky sneaks up behind him and wraps Sam in the blanket, still warm and smells of Bucky’s body wash. “Mornin’,” he purrs into the crook of Sam’s neck.

“Hey, you,” Sam smiles, reaching around to scratch lightly at Bucky’s scalp. “How’d you sleep.”

“Like the dead. Best sleep I’ve had in ages. What’d I miss?”

Sam runs down the morning’s events in detail, only slightly distracted by the gorgeous man currently drapes over his shoulder. Bucky already appears so comfortable with Sam. He seems looser, more relaxed. His movements are more fluid and easier. It’s a curious thing.

“Why don’t we just tell the UN our satellites picked up the sale as it was happening?” Bucky suggests, retreating to brush his teeth.

“Because Doom has some type of cloaking tech and we wouldn’t have been able to see into the truck without going in. Which we were technically not supposed to do without probable cause and Fury says our source is on the inside so we can’t chance exposing them,” Sam hollers so Bucky can hear from the bathroom.

“Well, I dunno how we’re gonna get admissible evidence then,” Bucky shrugs when he emerges from the hall. 

Sam watches him cross the living room. His pajama pants are sitting low on his hips as per usual, exposing a peak of that delicious V in the space his worn t-shirt doesn’t cover. His bedhead is spiking in all directions, probably due to some residual product left in it from the day before. He takes a seat on the arm of the couch, crossing his arms.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam shrugs and silence falls between them.

“So… yesterday—” Bucky begins, rubbing the back of his neck.

Here it comes. The day-after regret. The dissolution of promises made. Sam tries not to sound bitter when he asks, “Is this when you tell me you _wanna keep shit loose and easy_ and not put a title on this?”

“What?” Bucky looks truly shocked, which does give him some relief. “No—no, I guess I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Ok…”

“Like, what are we?”

“Dating, I suppose,” Sam shrugs feigning indifference. Just in case.

“Are you… seein’ anyone else?” Bucky asks hesitantly. “That… guy you uh—” 

Sam almost wants to laugh at the question but he goes for a well-enunciated, “nope,” instead.

“Ok. I’m not seein’ anyone either.”

“Good to know,” he nods.

“So, if you’re not seein’ anyone else,” Bucky rationalizes, wringing the hem of his shirt, “and I’m not seein’ anyone else, would you be ok if—I mean could we, maybe, just see each other? Like, _just each other_ and nobody else?”

_Guess there’s a first time for everything._ Sam is genuinely stunned. He stares at Bucky for a long time until he realizes his lack of a response is making the other man uneasy.

“Why, Sergeant Barnes,” he croons, batting his lashes playfully, “you askin’ me to go steady?”

That seems to melt some of his apprehensions away and he smiles softly. “Yeah, I am.”

Sam motions for him to come closer, then pulls him in to straddle his lap when he’s close enough. “You sure that’s what you really want? Or you just high off that exceptional blow job?”

“Hundred percent sure, Sam.”

***

Bucky knows he wants Sam. He can feel it from the ends of his hair to the soles of his feet. He’ll protect Sam until his dying breath and he’ll follow him to the ends of the earth. Most of all, he can’t stand the thought of Sam touching or looking at another man like he’s looking at Bucky right now; like he’s the only thing that matters in the whole damn world.

They’ve been kissing for so long now, Bucky’s lips are tingling and almost certainly swollen. He doesn’t care. Kissing Sam is like breathing and he wonders if it’ll always be like this, heady and desperate. As if he alone possesses the one thing that can keep Bucky alive.

Sam pulls away abruptly as if yanked by some invisible force. “We gotta stop.”

“Uh uh, nope,” Bucky huffs, diving for his mouth.

Sam pulls away again, laughing this time, “James, I’m serious. We’re supposed to be brainstorming this—”

Bucky is kissing him again, he can’t even control it at this point. Nor does he want to.

Sam’s hands find their way to the longer part of his hair and grip it hard, jerking him back and a familiar surge of arousal forces a dirty moan to escape his throat. 

“Ah, you like that,” Sam deduces before pulling again. “That’s good ‘cause I kinda have a thing for your hair.”

“Really?” Bucky croaks. 

“Really,” he insists, releasing his grip. “The long hair didn’t look bad it was just… I feel like that was him—the weapon—this is you,” he declares, reaching up to caress Bucky’s cheek. “This is James Barnes.”

Sam is right. The long hair wasn’t a result of a choice made by him in regards to his personal grooming. That, along with his beard, was a result of negligence by his handlers and a perceived lack of autonomy on his part after he was freed. His long hair was a crutch, the last vestige of an organization and an identity that he should have shed long ago. Sam saw that and understood it before even he did. Sam saw _him_ before he did.

Bucky kisses Sam’s forehead and just stares at him for a while, searching for something, he’s not sure what but when it finally hits him, it hits hard. 

He’s in love with Sam Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, somebody's in love.
> 
> Also, I know Doom is horribly disfigured in most comics, but I felt like making him fine af. Maybe it'll come in handy later.


	11. Say That You'll Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of their mission, and their interesting weekend together. It's time to get back to the real world and Bucky fears this may not last. 
> 
> Carol is inappropriately nosey... again.
> 
> And Sam wants to show an old dog some new tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty uneventful, but I just needed to get them home. Next is the Gala.

October 15th

Bucky wakes to early-morning sunlight filtering through dusty blinds, one rouge stream of light temporarily blinding him when he attempts to focus.

He tries to move his flesh arm, but finds it slightly more difficult than usual as it is currently… occupied. Sam was sleeping soundly, mouth slightly parted, shoulder rising and falling as he lay on his side.

Memories of the last few hours begin to come back to him. Sam had dragged Bucky into the shower after his workout, and they’d kissed under the warm spray, exploring each other’s bodies.

After that, it’s honestly a blur. Though he’s sure he came somewhere in the neighborhood of four or five times in the last 12 hours. A perk of the serum he’s quickly coming to appreciate given his fledgling, new, sex life.

Sam had come twice in that time, but _Christ,_ was it amazing when he did. Moaning and cursing as Bucky’s hand stroked him through wave after orgasmic wave. It was intoxicating, knowing he could get Sam off, knowing he was the reason for all the little gasps of _oh, fuck,_ and _don’t stop._ He reveled in the feeling. 

It was a high he hadn’t experienced since the 40s when he and Steve had fought side by side. Fighting alongside Sam now, with their new connection, would be something akin to being high, he imagined. 

The rest of their day had been filled with more hand jobs and blow jobs than Bucky ever thought possible. Sam’s second orgasm (and his fifth) came after a particularly heated frottage session, initiated by Sam. He’d slid their erections together as they lay on their sides, facing one another. Grinding and thrusting until he was gasping and begging to come. When he tried to finish himself off, Sam had slapped his hand away and continued his ministrations until quite the mess had been made.

Bucky had nearly divulged his secret then, as he spilled allover himself, Sam and the already compromised mattress underneath them. The words were right there on his lips and it had taken every ounce of self-control not to whisper into the shell of Sam’s ear, _I love you._

Despite his drab surroundings, Bucky can’t recall a better day in his recent or distant memory. 

He turns to face Sam—slowly, so as not to wake him—and brings his cybernetic arm around to ghost over Sam’s face before grazing his stubbled jaw. He looks so peaceful. 

Bucky knows they won’t always be like this. It’s a well-known fact that the honeymoon phase doesn’t last. But he’s going to ride it out for as long as possible. 

He wants Sam to always be this happy, this at peace. Not anxious about being Captain America or nervous about how the public will handle his sexuality. Sam deserves to be happy and he’ll make sure that happens, come hell or high water. 

Bucky’s never been in love. He’s been… _fond_ but the concept of loving someone besides his family or Steve—romantic love—is foreign. Or, it was. 

He feels it pulling at him now, as he watches Sam.

It grounds him in a way he can’t even begin to explain. Sam makes him feel like himself. Not necessarily the man he was before he fell, he sees the man Bucky has become and the man he could be. Sam is his tether to this strange, new world. He and the Avengers have given Bucky’s life direction, purpose.

This amazing man sees _him._ Not his trauma, not the Winter Soldier with all his many kills, not Steve’s first sidekick. 

Sam’s eyes flutter open and Bucky stills as if he hadn’t considered that stroking the man’s face couldn’t possibly result in him waking up.

“Hey,” Sam rasps, then coughs. “Shit, I think you dehydrated me. Drained my goddamn lifeforce.”

“I can get you a water,” Bucky offers, running a vibranium finger over Sam’s full, slightly chapped bottom lip.

Sam whines and wriggles closer. “Don’t you dare move, Barnes.”

“That a direct order, _Captain?”_ Bucky smiles, pulling Sam in the rest of the way so they’re pressed against one another, naked and… tacky.

Sam grimaces at the sensation of skin sticking to skin, their dried spend serving as the adhesive. _“Ugh,_ we shoulda cleaned up.”

“Well, I dunno about you, but I definitely blacked out that last time.” 

Sam stares into his eyes for a moment as if he’s searching for something. Just when Bucky feels impossibly more naked under his penetrating gaze, it softens and the former Airman’s lips curl into a sleepy smile.

“What am I gonna do with you, James Buchannan Barnes?” Sam muses, raising a hand to move a runaway strand of hair from Bucky’s forehead. 

_Love me,_ he wants to say, but he knows that’ll only freak Sam out. They’ve been together for all of half a day now and the last thing he wants to do is mess this up by jumping the gun. 

Instead, he says, “I’m sure you’ll think of _something,”_ the last word dripping in desire because sexual innuendo is 1000 times less complicated than what Bucky’s currently feeling.

Sam smiles and pulls away slightly. “We need another shower. Carol will be here soon.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Sam smirks, turns and reaches for his boxers with a grunt, then wiggles around to slide them on under the covers. The fact that he’s trying to be modest now is pretty endearing if a bit unnecessary at this point.

He won’t deny a sinking feeling as Sam makes his way to the bathroom. Going home feels like leaving a fantasy and going back to the real world. Back to the daily grind; work, avenging, and getting ready for the Stark Foundation Gala. There would be at least one more team meeting, a PR meeting with just the two of them, and suit fittings. He sure as hell ain't looking forward to it.

Aside from their grimy surroundings and imposed diet of instant Ramen, beef jerky, and canned peaches, it’s been a great weekend.

What if they get home and Sam comes to his senses, realizes that Bucky’s too broken, too desperate, too much work? 

Although they’re just getting together, Bucky can admit to himself that there had always been something there. A spark that was just waiting to set something aflame. Now, within a matter of hours, it had erupted into a raging fire and he doesn’t want it extinguished now that he’d been burned.

He’s completely fucked and not in a good way.

***

It takes all of two minutes for Carol to realize something is off. For one, Sam, ever the professional, hadn’t even attempted brief her on his plans to stop whatever Doom was up to. It’s as if he’d completely forgotten his reason for staying an extra day.

Another thing, Bucky isn’t sitting behind her in his usual seat. Instead, he’s sitting directly next to Sam, despite there being a dozen available seats in the jet. They’re smiling goofily and speaking in hushed tones. Then, Bucky outright _giggles_ and Carol barely stops herself from turning around in her seat.

“Ready for takeoff, Captain,” Friday chirps and she hears it somewhere in her subconscious.

Carol initiates vertical ascent without replying to the A.I., and continues to observe the two men using her peripheral vision.

It takes another 30 seconds for her realize they’re, honest to god, _holding hands._ She can tell by the way their arms are positioned between their bodies. 

They may as well have _WE’RE FUCKING_ tattooed on their foreheads at this point.

Afraid she may ruin a moment or make them uncomfortable by being such a creeper, she opts to place the Quinjet on autopilot and subtly takes her phone from the pocket of her well-worn leather flight jacket.

She opens up the group chat between her, Jim, and Steve—the Cupid Squad—knowing full well neither man is up at 3 am on a Sunday morning, but she’s too excited to keep this news to herself.

_I think Jim’s plan worked._

*

A few hours later, somewhere over the Atlantic, she joins the two lovebirds in the back of the plane, taking a seat across from Sam, who’s bobbing his head to some upbeat mid-90’s R&B song as Barnes lay sleeping with his head in Sam’s lap. It’s too precious for words, really.

When Sam looks up and sees her staring, he removes one of his earbuds. “What’s up, girl?”

“Oh… nothing,” she replies, using her eyes to point at the sleeping man who’s using him as a pillow.

“Oh. Um—yeah. About that—”

“Oh. My. God. I don’t believe you. On a mission though, Sam?” She teases.

“You and I both know this mission was pointless, I stand by that.”

“We’ll talk about that later. You and Barnes, though…”

Sam glances down at the man in question and Carol would know that look from a mile away. She’s only ever looked at Hilde like that.

“You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” Sam sighs, looking down at Barnes again.

“Try me.”

Sam looks, for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to tell her but then, he speaks. “Well, I’d been dancing around this… thing with me and Bucky. Talked to Steve and Jim about it. I just felt like there was something there, y’know? But I kept making excuses—saying it was a bad idea because of the team and his mental state. Anyway, Reilly—my fiancé who died—he came to me in a dream or a vision or something and told me to give Bucky a chance. It was the weirdest fuckin’—”

“Soul Realm vision,” Carol blurts, cutting him off. She’s never experienced them herself, but pretty much all of her Earth-bound friends had been dusted and they told her about their strange dreams post-return.

“…yeah… how’d you know?”

“Fury, Maria, Monica. They all get ‘em. Fury asked Strange about it and he said anyone with such a connection to the stone could have these visions indefinitely,” she explained.

“Damn,” Sam sighed. “I mean, I’m glad I’m not crazy but he coulda warned me.”

 _Well, I could’ve warned you too,_ she thinks absently. “In his defense, he and Maximoff have been gone for months.”

“Yeah, on their _extradimensional adventure,”_ he mocks. “What the hell are they even looking for?”

“Who knows, Sam. Other planets—other galaxies—I can handle, but other _dimensions,”_ she shook her head, “whole other universes with alternate versions of ourselves… I’ll leave that to the sorcerers. I’ll never wrap my head around it.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, she asks, “So, you guys fuck yet?”

“ _Christ, Carol,_ ” Sam chuckles behind his hand so as not to wake Barnes.

“What?”

“You just get down to business, don’t you?”

“You know how they say old people are super blunt? I’m finding that to be the case more and more every day,” she laughs.

“You’re not old.”

“I’m 60, Sam,” she says and he just stares, as if she’s going to laugh and say, _just kidding_ any second now. 

“Oh, you serious?”

“Yup, born in 1963. Kree blood keeps me looking young and beautiful,” she says, flipping the longer parts of her hair for added emphasis.

“I—wow.”

“Anyway, yay or nay on the sex stuff?”

“Nay. We did do… other things though.” Carol levels an unbelieving look and Sam added, “no lube.”

“Ah, yes, _lube._ I don’t envy that predicament.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t rub it in or anything.” 

“That’d be your job, Cap.”

***

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Sam wakes with his head on Bucky’s shoulder and the loud hum of repulsor engines shutting down. When he looks up, the Winter Soldier is smiling down at him and _shit, are those butterflies?_

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Sam stretches and groans, already feeling the effects of sleeping in a less than ideal position. _That’s gonna hurt ‘til at least Tuesday._ “Please tell me we get to go home now,” he grumbles and Bucky answers with a quick peck to his cheek to cushion the blow.

“’Fraid not. We got a debrief with Hill and Carol. Fury’s gonna be linked in from The Peak.”

“He likes it up there in low orbit, huh? With all those… shapeshifters,” Sam calls out to Carol in the front of the plane, rubbing at his sore neck. 

“They’re called Skrulls, flyboy,” Carol answers as she makes her way over to them. “Can’t say I blame him though, it’s nice up there. You guys should visit sometime, see the planet from a different point of view.”

Sam says “Hell no,” at the same time Bucky says, “Fuck yeah,” and they both laugh.

“C’mon,” Bucky implores him, “that sounds romantic as shit.” He nuzzles at Sam’s ear for good measure and Sam finds his hand has snaked around to the back of Bucky’s neck without his knowledge.

 _“Ahem!”_ Carol blatantly clears her throat, pointing at them sternly. “There will be no fingering, fucking, fellatio, rimming, or frottage aboard The Peak. Thank you _very_ much!”

“I dunno what half that shit even is,” Bucky mutters.

Sam brings his lips to Bucky’s ear and feels his attempt to suppress a shudder when he whispers, “You will.”

Carol trudges down the ramp, gagging melodramatically. “Get a fucking room!”


	12. Pretty Pink, Baby Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper strikes again… and also, smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last half of this chapter is pure smut. You’ve been warned.

Whoever came up with the expression “Time flies when you’re having fun,” clearly hadn’t considered that time also flew when you were simultaneously busy as fuck and not having fun at all. 

Jim had called Sunday afternoon to let Sam know he’d be out of the office for the week. Apparently, Maria got some unexpected time off and wanted to spend it with her beau. So, Sam, the overachiever he is, had decided to forgo rocking Bucky’s literal and metaphorical world in the comfort of their condo as promised, to instead drive to the office and try to get ahead of schedule so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed come Monday.

He’d figured Jim deserved an impromptu staycation with Maria. They couldn’t go public with their relationship so any extended period of time they got to spend together was precious and rare, but that also meant Sam would be in charge for half the week. He would soon discover that he severely underestimated both the importance of the job and the sheer volume of work it brought along with it. 

By the time he’d arrived home Sunday evening, Bucky was adorably tuckered out on the couch with some National Geographic show about big cats watching him as opposed to the other way around. Sam had taken one of Bucky’s many fuzzy blankets and draped it over him before kissing his forehead before turning off the TV.

Monday was sure to be a shit show and as much as he wanted to snuggle up with Bucky on the couch, or drag the other man back to his room, Sam knew he’d have to get up early tomorrow and waking up to Bucky in his bed would only… complicate things.

***

October 20th

Bucky’s week had been disappointing to say the least. Just as he’d feared, coming home had sucked the magic right out of whatever he and Sam were doing.

On Sunday, during couch cuddles and a Star Wars marathon, Rhodes had called. Apparently, he was going to be out of the office all week which put Sam in charge. 

“I should go in,” Sam had said reluctantly after he hung up, “get a feel for the workload, y’know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Bucky had nodded as Sam pushed himself up off the couch to get dressed.

He had tried not to look like a sad puppy as he stood by the door, but the piteous little smile on Sam’s lips after their goodbye kiss said he’d failed.

“I’ll only be a couple hours,” Sam had tried to reassure him on his way out the door around 3 pm.   
Bucky had awoken Monday morning to a Sam-less apartment, but there was a fresh pot of coffee, a blueberry muffin from the bakery on the corner and a text message that made him smile despite the fact that he’d missed Sam entirely.

_Morning Gorgeous. I had to dip out early, but I got you one of those bougey ass muffins you like. See you later (kissy face emoji)._

It was only 8:22, which meant Sam had worked out, bought his muffin, and had still managed to shower, make coffee, and leave early. And people said _he_ was the super soldier. 

The rest of the week had gone much the same. There were planned and cancelled dinners, rushed lunches where Sam was answering emails the entire time, and text messages full of apologies and promises to make up for the time lost. 

To add insult to injury, Bucky’s work load had been ridiculously light. With T’Challa and Shuri in town for the gala, Nakia had been out of the office more often than not and there was really nothing to do in an embassy with no ambassador. It had given him too much time to think which was never good.

Now it’s Friday and he hasn’t spent more than a couple waking hours alone with Sam but at least the week is over. Sam has to be home by 6 for their suit fitting with Pepper and her team. After that, Sam is all his.

***

“Time, Friday,” Sam barks without looking up from the proposal he’s currently typing.

“5:50. Even if you sped home, you’d be 10 minutes late.”

_Fuck._ Sam hates to make people wait on him, especially a whole team of people which includes his new boyfriend _and_ Pepper Potts-Stark.

“This proposal is not due to the Pentagon until close of business on Tuesday, Sam. I’m sure Jim can finish it up by then,” the ever-helpful A.I. points out.

“Wait, what? This isn’t due today?”

“You’ve completed all tasks for the week as of Thursday afternoon.”

Sam doesn’t even reply to her declaration, he just grabs his jacket and bolts from the room like it’s on fire. This is probably the only time in his life that his proactiveness has worked against him. 

He knows he’s been neglecting his boyfriendly duties all week and Bucky’s probably going to be standoffish at best this weekend. Not that Sam can blame him. He’ll find a way to make it up this before the gala on Sunday.

*

Sam stumbles into the apartment—not unlike the comedy relief on a primetime sitcom—startling everyone in the room. He’s out of breath and he’s got a stitch in his side from running down the hall at full speed with his messenger bag and a bottle of wine he’d been keeping in his mini fridge at work. He’d snagged it one day during a lunch break—picked it up for a steal. The vintage had been too good to resist. Apologizing to his boyfriend seems as good an excuse as any to pop the cork.

The first thing he sees is Bucky, standing on a raised platform, surrounded by people. He’s wearing a gorgeous blue velvet, one-button jacket with silk lapels, matching pants, white shirt, and a navy bow tie. There’s a man crouched by his left ankle is likely adjusting his hem. 

Bucky looks at him and smiles and Sam almost forgets there are like 10 other people in the room. This is probably the most people they’ve ever had in the apartment at once.

He puts down his bag and the wine just as Pepper makes her way over and pulls him into a hug. “We decided to start without you,” she smiles.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Work has been insane with Jim gone. I dunno how he does it,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“He has you,” Pepper shrugs a slim shoulder. “You’re doing great by the way.”

He sure doesn’t think so, but sure. “Thanks.”

“Let me introduce you to everyone, then I’ll let you get changed.” She leads him to the living room and everyone who’s sitting stands up, save for the man fiddling with Bucky’s pants.

“You know Joe and Aimee.” They both nod in acknowledgement. 

“These are your stylists, Simone and Greg. They helped design your suits,” Pepper says, “Friday provided your measurements,” she adds, motioning to a short, shapely black woman with a head full of kinky curls and a tall, lanky ginger with a face full of freckles and a hipster haircut. He shakes both their hands and tries not to stare up at Bucky, who’s still looking down at him.

“That’s the tailor, Cameron,” she points to the crouching, dark-haired man who smiles warmly at him from his work on Bucky’s pants, “and Urielle, his assistant.”

“Call me Uri,” the tailor’s assistant smiles as he shakes Sam’s hand. “Huge fan,” he adds quietly and Sam thanks him. He’s fair-skinned, Latino from what Sam could tell—maybe Cuban or Puerto Rican—with wavy hair, shaved on the sides and back, the top pulled up into a high bun.

“This is my new intern, Jessica,” Pepper adds and the young woman titters over to shake his hand. She’s tall and svelte like pepper, with tan skin and dark hair pulled into a low, sleek ponytail.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Wilson,” she nods, shaking his hand. Her grasp is surprisingly firm.

“Just Sam, please,” he chuckles, hoping to loosen her up. 

“And this—” Pepper adds with a bit of flare, Sam doesn’t hear her announcement because he nearly faints when he sees who it is.

“Ta-Tom Ford,” Sam stammers in disbelief. “Tom Ford is in my apartment,” he says out loud, much to his own chagrin. 

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” the designer says as they shake hands. “I look forward to working with you and James.”

“Wow—” is all Sam can muster. Thankfully, Pepper steps in as Mr. Ford goes back to his conversation with Cameron and Uri.

“Tom used to design all Tony’s custom suits,” she explains.

“Uh, Pepper, I’m doin’ alright for myself, but I can’t afford no damn Tom Ford tuxedo,” Sam mutters once the famed fashion designer is out of earshot.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam,” she whispers. “You’re an SI executive, wardrobe for SI events is included in your Total Rewards package.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Now, I need you to go strip down to your undies and get back out here if you want us outta your hair by midnight.”

Sam walks off to do as he’s told, but stops when he reaches Bucky.

“Y’look good, Buck,” he murmurs, looking up at the man on a literal pedestal.

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles, blushing. “I clean up nice, huh?”

“Real nice,” Sam quietly reiterates. He’ll never get tired of making Bucky blush. He reaches up touch his lover’s hand, running his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles in a small yet intimate gesture, as if they’re the only two people in the room. Bucky bites his lip as if the seemingly innocuous touch is enough to light his fuse. The way Sam’s been neglecting him, it probably is. He’ll make up for it tonight once everyone leaves. 

“Ahem!” Aimee appears beside him, standing expectantly with her hands on her hips, eyes darting between their hands and Sam’s face. 

Sam retracts his hand like it’s been burned. “Right, strip, got it,” he blurts before speed-walking to his room.

*

Four hours and a shit-ton of Thai takeout later, they’re half an hour into an argument about Sam’s jacket. Tom had designed three different jackets for Sam; one royal blue with black shawl lapels, a plum version of Bucky’s jacket, and a pink number in a slightly shiny material that Tom, Aimee, and both stylists are strangely in favor of.

Sam would have been happy with either of the other jackets but at this point, he’s willing to wear the pink one just to get these people out of his house. Poor had Bucky excused himself from the living room 30 minutes ago and Sam seriously doubts he’ll be back before everyone leaves.

“Can we just put this to a vote?” Joseph groans from the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Pepper sighed loudly and glanced at her watch. “Fine, is everybody here?” 

“Where’s Barnes?” Aimee asks, glancing around the space.

“Do we really need his vote?” Jessica asks the room. Most everyone shrugs. In theory, Bucky’s opinion shouldn’t matter, but Sam values his boyfriend’s opinion.

Aimee locks eyes with Sam and points, with her eyes, in the direction of Bucky’s room. Urging him to go retrieve his fellow Avenger.

_Oh, right._

“I’ll go get him!” Sam jumps up from his seat at the counter and walks off purposefully toward Bucky’s room as the rest of them continue arguing amongst themselves.

He knocks on the bedroom door and Bucky calls out for him to come in. When he does, he Finds the former assassin sprawled out with his head hanging off the foot of his bed, watching Empire Strikes Back upside dow.

“You made it to Empire without me?” He asks, recalling their forgotten marathon.

“Didn’t know when I was gonna see you again,” Bucky snipes without looking up. 

_Ok, ouch._ “I’m real sorry about that, Buck. I’ve been drowning at work without Jim,” Sam explains. It’s a pitiful excuse, but at least it’s the truth. Still, he should have made time for his new boyfriend. “His job is way harder than I thought, especially when I gotta do my own job too. He needs a frickin’ assistant.”

Bucky sighs and sits up, hopefully feeling a little more sympathetic now that Sam has explained himself. He says nothing and stays by the door, waiting for Bucky to respond.

“C’mere,” Bucky says, swinging his legs around to the side of the bed facing Sam.

He pads over to the bed and Bucky pulls him close once him closer once he’s near enough to grab. He wraps him arms around Sam’s waist, pressing his face against Sam’s sternum, and squeezes him tight. Sam’s hands are in Bucky’s hair in an instant, massaging his scalp.

“I just missed you, Sam,” Bucky confesses. His voice is muffled by Sam’s dress shirt, but Sam hears the admission clear as day.

He cups Bucky’s chin, tilting his face upward. “I missed you too, baby. Once we get these people outta our shit, we can come back here—” Sam glances around Bucky’s messy room. It’s not gross and it smells ok, but there’s clothing and shoes and random tech everywhere and it makes Sam a little anxious. “Or we can go to my room,” he suggests and Bucky smirks knowingly. He’s been around Sam long enough to know he’s kind of a neat freak.

“Still arguin’ about that damn jacket?” Bucky asks, a little annoyed.

“We’re putting it to a vote. That’s why I came to get you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and lets Sam go to stroke his stubbled chin in mock-thought. “I dunno, I kinda like the pink,” he says.

“You can’t be serious,” Sam grumbles. If Bucky votes, he’ll be wearing that pink jacket for sure.

“What?” Bucky feigns innocence, “You look good in the pink.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit… on the nose?” Sam asks. Truth be told, Sam doesn’t mind the color itself. He’ll certainly stand out in a custom, pink Tom Ford jacket, but it’s a bit much.

“Whadyamean?” his boyfriend asks, confused.

“I mean,” Sam begins, “I’m coming out as Captain America at this thing, it’s gonna eventually come out that I’m gay at some point if not Sunday—” he hesitates, “you don’t think the pink is, like, _uber_ gay?”

Bucky’s raised eyebrow can only be described as the expressive equivalent of _“really bro?”_

“What? I’m serious, Buck.”

“Sam,” Bucky says, standing. “If you like the pink, wear the pink. You ain’t about that macho bullshit. That’s not you.”

Though he knows it’s true, Sam is little taken aback by Bucky’s declaration. He’s so _not_ the closed-minded bigot Sam had assumed as recently as a few weeks ago. He’s… perfect.

They’re kissing before Sam’s mind can even process what’s going on. Its heated and hungry and Sam revels in all the noises Bucky is making against his mouth. He swallows them all and begs for more, pushing his tongue through Bucky’s parting lips. 

“Jesus, Sam,” Bucky pants, pulling back to breathe.

“Sorry,” Sam blurts out automatically, but Bucky is back to kissing him just as he catches his breath, dragging Sam onto the bed.

“Please don’t tell me you’re sorry for that,” Bucky murmurs against his lips. He moves his metal hand to Sam’s cock, cupping him through perfectly crafted trousers.

“Shit,” Sam hisses. He’d completely forgotten there were people waiting for them. Not to mention he absolutely _cannot_ come in (or on) custom tailored Tom Ford slacks.

“What?” Bucky asks, pulling back.

“They’re waiting for us.”

“Let ‘em wait,” Bucky whispers and goes to kiss him again.

Sam chuckles and puts his hand on Bucky’s chest to stop him. “We gotta go,” he murmurs a centimeter away from Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky lets out a frustrated growl before planting a quick peck on Sam’s lips, then proceeds to fix himself in his jeans. “Might wanna… adjust,” he suggests, vaguely motioning to the apparent hard-on in Sam’s pants. He does so, already regretting halting their make out session. 

Bucky moves to stand beside Sam and takes his hand and intertwines their fingers and squeezes. “Pink?” Bucky asks 

“Pink,” Sam nods.

***

The vote was quicker than Bucky assumed it would be. Once he, Sam, Simone, Greg, Aimee, and Mr. Ford himself had voted for the pink jacket, it was an open-and-shut case.

“Hey, Pepper,” Sam calls and motions her and Bucky over. They both join Sam in the kitchen as the others begin to file out of the apartment.

“We have something to tell you,” Sam tells her, all the while he’s looking at Bucky. 

_He wants to tell her about us,_ Bucky realizes. He supposes it’s best she knows now, so her team can figure out how to spin it or roll it out or whatever PR bullshit they’re gonna do. Though, he’d rather not think of his relationship in that way, like a business. 

“Go ahead, Sam,” he urges.

“Bucky and I are—we’re… together,” Sam professes and they wait for her response. 

“Hey, Aimee,” she calls after the woman who turns around on her way out the door. “You were right.”

“Knew it,” Aimee sang as she disappeared through the door way.

“She called it as soon as you got home, Sam. Sent me a text during dinner,” Pepper explained casually.

“Ok,” Sam drawls, “now what?”

“Don’t worry about it, boys,” Pepper assures them. “Aimee’s has plans and strategies for this sort of thing. Either of you was bound to find someone eventually.”

“This won’t… complicate things?” Bucky asks. The last thing he wants to do was make this more difficult for Sam. He can hide their relationship if he has to. It’ll kill him a little but he’d do it for Sam.

“Do we have to formally come out? Like, a press conference?” Sam asks.

“We’ll address it when we have to, which will be soon I’d imagine,” she looks at them expectantly.

“Oh, we haven’t been on a date out in public or anything yet,” Sam insists. 

“Well, kinda,” Bucky counters.

“That wasn’t a date.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. _It was totally a date._

“There was no… PDA or anything like that,” Sam adds.

“Ok, well just go on about your lives, you don’t have to hide your relationship. I’d never ask anyone to do that,” Pepper insists. “Just know that we’re going to address it head-on if anyone asks. We’re not going to shy away from it.”

Bucky stares at Sam, searches his face for any signs of fear or doubt, but he only sees resolve and determination. If Sam is ready, then so is he.

“Let’s do it, then,” Sam speaks up.

“Great.” Pepper picks up a bag that probably costs as much as his car and heads to the door. “Goodnight, gentlemen. See you the airfield, 9 am sharp.”

“See you in the morning,” Sam smiles.

Bucky goes to lock the door behind her before returning to his lover’s side. “You ready for all this, Sam?” Bucky asks, taking his boyfriend’s hand.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sam sighs.

“Great.” Bucky smiles and kisses him. “Now, take me to bed, Captain.”

*

Bucky is on his back, head propped up on a pillow, clad in nothing but a pair of the silkiest socks he’s ever worn as Sam hovers over him in the snug-fitting boxer briefs he’d worn for the suit fitting. He’s not sure how long they’ve been kissing, but Bucky’s lips and surrounding areas are rubbed raw from the friction and beard burn from Sam’s mustache and his 5 o’clock shadow.

The room is immaculate—it’s Sam’s room so of course, it is. His king-sized bed is the firmest Bucky has ever laid on, yet it’s shockingly comfortable. He’ll have to get one for himself… or he could just sleep in Sam’s bed every night. There’s a thought.

Just when he thinks, _I could kiss this man forever,_ Sam abandons his mouth to nibble at his jaw, and up to the shell of his ear. He says nothing, but his labored breaths and teeth on Bucky’s earlobe are enough to bring him to peak arousal. He can’t help glancing down at his own body. Surely, he’s never been this hard in his life, probably because he knows what awaits him. His cock is lying heavily against his stomach, blushing head peeking out from the foreskin, precome beading at the tip. It twitches eagerly every time Sam’s ministrations strike a certain nerve. The tent in Sam’s boxers says he’s in a similar predicament. 

“Why am I the only one who’s naked here?” Bucky manages to ask and he feels Sam smile against the side of his face.

Bucky’s eyes are locked on Sam as he rolls off his side of the bed, slides the snug boxers down his thighs and kicks them aside. This isn’t the first time Sam has been nude in his presence—they’d showered together in Sokovia—but Bucky can now admit that he hadn’t taken the time to properly admire the man’s physique. 

Sam’s body is a physiological marvel. He is bulkier than Bucky but it’s all muscle, not just toned, but solid and thick with deep valleys and round swells. He’s certainly a testament to physical training. The man eats well, doesn’t really watch his diet, but he works out hard and it shows.

His cock is just as impressive, firm and dangling between those wide, sinewy thighs. Shorter than his own though, not by much and Sam certainly has a bit more girth. The surrounding hair is so precisely cropped and trimmed, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if it was professionally waxed. The thought alone is enough to make him wince internally at the pain. Sam’s is the first circumcised cock he’s seen in person (porn doesn’t count), and it definitely makes everything look… neater. He chuckles to himself at the thought that Sam’s obsession with tidiness should permeate every aspect of his life. 

“See somethin’ y’like, Barnes?” Sam asks from where he stands.

“I see a lot I like, Wilson,” he answers, sitting up. It’s a tragic understatement. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs and Sam’s lips quirk upwards on one side. 

“I’m no super soldier,” he comments.

“No, but that’s what makes you so impressive, Sam. I don’t have to work for all this,” he looks down at his own naked form. “You work hard for your's. Your body is insane, baby.”

Sam doesn’t respond verbally, but the look in his eyes says Bucky’s words have hit their mark. He wants to take Sam apart and put him back together again. Until now, Sam had been doing most of the work, taking the lead in their amorous activities. Bucky hasn’t done more than jerk him off and buck his hips while they rutted against each other. That’s about to change.

“Can I uh—” he glances at Sam’s dick, then back up to his eyes, “y’know—with my mouth?” _Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth._ He mentally facepalms.

Sam strides around to his side of the bed and stands in front of him. “I dunno, _can_ you?”

“I think I’m up to the—” he takes another look, “challenge.”

Sam asks, “How do you want me?” and Bucky saves the phrase in his mental rolodex of shit he never wants to forget.

“Sit down,” he instructs, patting the spot next to him on the bed. Sam does as he’s told, smirking. 

Bucky slides off the bed to his knees and positions himself between Sam’s thighs. “This good?” he asks hesitantly as anxiety begins to creep through the cracks of his psyche. 

“Perfect,” Sam assures him, stroking his cheek. “You’re perfect.”

Bucky kisses his palm and takes Sam’s cock in hand, warm and weighty in his grasp.

Sam steps in when he notices hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he whispers.

“Well, you don’t have to take it down all at once. You ain’t a porn star.”

Bucky chuckles before licking a slow strip up the underside of Sam’s cock, stopping at the tip to sample the drop of precome that has gathered there. “Jesus,” Sam hisses and Bucky’s cock jumps. The thought of Sam coming apart by his hand (mouth) stirs something low in his belly. 

“Tell me how to make you come,” he begs as he begins to jerk Sam slowly with his vibranium hand. He watches Sam’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows.

“Just keep sayin’ shit like that.” Bucky gives him a look and he adds, “concentrate on the head, watch your teeth and this spot right here.” He uses his index finger to indicate a spot just below the head on the underside. “I’m real sensitive here,” he adds, and Bucky’s mouth waters. “Like I said, no deepthroating on your first try, ok. Don’t be a hero.”

Bucky nods once before taking the head of Sam’s cock in his mouth, covering his teeth as suggested. His skin is slightly salty and he smells of musk and faintly of soap from his morning shower. Bucky bobs up and down tentatively, just to see how far he can take it without gagging. He presses his tongue to Sam’s spot, keeping it in place as speeds up the pace. 

Sam moans above him, “Oooh, shit. Oh, _fuck,”_ and jerks his hips, pushing himself deeper. The tip grazes the back of Bucky’s throat and it’s a weird sensation like he’s being choked from inside. He pulls off abruptly to catch his breath.

“Shit, Buck. I’m so sorry,” Sam says, panicked. 

“’s fine,” he huffs.

“It’s not. I’m sorry. We can do something else if you— _shit,_ ok then,” he chokes when Bucky goes back to work on his cock, pushing him deeper. 

Sam grabs onto the longer part of his hair and it’s like an out-of-body experience. Bucky doesn’t even register the filthy noises currently escaping his throat as he gags on his lover’s length.

“I’m not gonna last, Bucky,” Sam cries after a while and Bucky thinks Sam could just dirty talk him to orgasm if he really wanted to. They’ll have to try that one day. 

“You’re too good at that,” he hisses to himself and Bucky moans at the praise as he continues. “Need to fuck, you baby. Get up here.”

Bucky releases his cock with a lude _pop_ and crawls up the bed to join his boyfriend.

“All fours, baby. Rest on your elbows,” Sam instructs. 

Bucky pulls off his socks and does as he is told. He’s never been in this position and it makes him feel even more naked, if that’s even possible. He hears Sam fumble around a drawer, probably lube, and he tenses. He doesn’t even know what to expect here. He’s never delved into ass play himself and Sam hadn’t dared to even finger him in Sokovia. It strikes him at this very moment that Sam’s thickness is about to be in his ass. _This may hurt a little._

“Hold on,” he says, pushing himself up on his hands. He looks back at Sam who’s just finished lubing up his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“I just—this is gonna hurt right? Like at first—when you first—”

“Yeah, it might,” Sam admits. “It should start to feel good pretty soon after, though,” he explains as he rubs Bucky’s lower back. “We don’t have to do this right now,” he concedes.

“No,” Bucky retorts. “I want to.”

“Ok,” Sam smiles. “If it hurts, we can stop any time.”

Bucky nods.

Sam reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a gold-wrapped condom.

“You, don’t need it,” Bucky blurts.

“What? A condom?”

“Yeah, you don’t need it. I don’t—can’t get sick,” he explains. It’s one of the only things his serum got right.

Sam looks at the wrapper between his fingers. “It’s better for clean-up,” he points out.

“Sam,” Bucky reaches around to take the condom from Sam’s hand, “we’re good, I promise.” When Sam looks hesitant he adds, “I wanna… feel you.”

Sam finally releases the gold package to Bucky who places it on the bed a couple of feet away. “I’m gonna prep you as long as it takes, ok.”

Bucky nods and returns to his previous position, leaning on his elbows. “With your fingers?” 

“We’ll get there, but first, I’m gonna try something. It should help you relax. That sound ok?”

“Go for it,” Bucky insists and Sam chuckles.

Sam places his hands on Bucky’s ass with thumbs positioned precariously close to his entrance. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when those thumbs pull his ass cheeks apart, exposing him.

“Breath out for me on three, ok. One, two—”

Before a full exhale can leave his lungs, Bucky’s senses are assaulted by what can only be Sam’s tongue, flat against his hole.

_“OH GOD!”_

“This ok?” Sam asks.

“Just… don’t stop,” Bucky (barely) manages to choke out.

Sam chuckles to himself and licks the same spot again.

He licks and swirls his wet tongue over and around Bucky’s hole over and over until the area is a slippery mess and saliva is dripping down to his balls. 

“Sam. Oh, shit. Fucking shit, _goddamn!”_

When Sam’s tongue breaches him, Bucky howls and nearly collapses onto the mattress, but Sam holds him steady and fucks him with his mouth. 

“Sammy… Sam. Jesus fuckin’—”

Sam hums in response as if to say _“Oh, I know, baby.”_

There’s a puddle on the sheets where he’s been leaking and his cock is so hard it’s fucking purple. Just when he thinks he could come from this alone, Sam sits up and replaces his tongue with a lubed-up finger. It breaches him almost too easily and Bucky sees stars. It’s too much and, at the same time, it’s not nearly enough. 

Sam picks up the pace and asks, “Is this ok?”

“Mmm-more,” Bucky moans. 

“Already? You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam applies more lube and slowly enters him with two fingers, setting a brutal pace straight away. 

Bucky wants to touch himself so badly, it literally _hurts._ If Sam is angling to make him come untouched, he just might accomplish his goal tonight. 

“S-S-Sam, please—”

Sam bends to bite his butt cheek and Bucky shifts back, fucking himself hard on Sam’s fingers. “Tell me what you need,” Sam beseeches.

_“Fuck me…_ please fuck me, Sam.”

“You sure? I should try another finger before—”

“Do it, Sam. I can take it,” Bucky pleads. 

Sam removes his fingers and taps Bucky’s hip. “Roll over babe. On your side.”

“I don’t think… I can move,” Bucky huffs. “If my dick touches anything, it’s gonna explode.”

“I got you,” Sam laughs. “Just fall to the side. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Bucky follows his lover’s direction and allows himself to drop onto his right side. He hears the cap on the lube again but he’s not even sure he can open his eyes right now. When had he closed his eyes anyway?

Sam slides behind him and brushes the well-loosened area with more lube. “Ready? he asks, aligning himself with Bucky’s entrance.

“More than ready,” Bucky mutters. 

It takes longer than expected to get the blunt tip of Sam’s cock through the ring of muscle, but it’s so worth it. Sam breaths out through clenched teeth as he sinks into Bucky at a glacial pace. 

“God, you’re fucking tight,” he hisses. Bucky can’t even fix his mouth to reply because it’s currently hanging open in a silent cry. That’s when Sam takes hold of his cock. Bucky can feel it pulsate in his grasp.

“You’re so hard for me.” He swipes his thumb over the weeping slit and growls low in Bucky’s ear. “So wet.”

All Bucky can do it moan in reply. Sam is deep in his ass now and has yet to move, but Bucky can feel every rush of blood through his cock, every little jump and twitch and it’s driving him insane.

_“Fuck, baby,_ I’m not gonna last,” Sam sobs. He sounds so fucking debauched, so positively taken apart and Bucky wants to remember that sound until the day he dies. 

“Gonna move now,” Sam whispers in his ear. Bucky nods. He draws back, then pushes in and simultaneously begins to slowly stroke his cock. 

Sam picks up speed just a little and _now,_ it’s all too much. It feels as if Sam is all around him, surrounding him. Seeping in and filling every crevasse of his mind, body, and soul with each thrust. Each stroke is simultaneously lighting and extinguishing a fire somewhere deep inside that he hadn’t known existed until now. 

He’s not sure how long they go on like that, but by the time he gains some sense of equilibrium, the two of them are covered in sweat and breathing as if they’ve just completed a marathon. The feeling in his belly is a familiar one, he’s jerked off enough times to recognize it, but it quickly evolves into something exponentially more powerful, sending a million volts of electricity through his entire body. 

“S-S-Sam—gonna come.”

“Let go, baby,” Sam commands and quickens his stroke on Bucky’s cock before coming to a complete stop at the base. He knows Sam is no longer stroking him, but he can still _feel_ the ghost of his rhythm. It’s all he needs. 

He comes with a shout that he doesn’t even recognize as his own, shaking and gasping and murmuring nonsense, spilling into Sam’s fist and onto the sheets. He feels himself clench around Sam, who comes a few strokes later, whispering expletives and praise into Bucky’s hair, filling him with wet heat.

Sam releases Bucky’s cock and allows his softening member to slip out slowly before rolling onto his back and off the bed. Then he hears Sam pad over to the in-suite bathroom.

*

October 16th

After what had seemed like only a few moments, Bucky’s eyes open and begin to register his surroundings. _Sam’s room. Right._ It’s pitch black aside from a stream of dull light peeking through a gap in the grey solar blinds that cover the windows.

When had he turned off the lights? Had he fallen asleep? That was the only explanation for this slightly rested feeling.

He rolls over to find Sam curled up behind him, snoring softly. He smiles in the darkness and resists the urge to touch the man. Not wanting to wake him.

He reaches down tentatively to assess his… situation below the belt and finds he’s been cleaned, front and back. Sam had… cleaned him, as he slept no less. 

_Well if I wasn’t in love before, I am now._

“You ok, sleeping beauty?” Sam groans. Bucky can barely make out his face in the darkness.

“When did I fall asleep?”

“I came back from cleaning myself off and you were knocked the fuck out,” Sam explains. “Wiped you down and you barely made a peep. Had to put my finger under your nose to make sure you were still breathing.”

“Thanks for that—cleaning me up, I mean.”

“Yeah, well… wakin’ up crusty ain’t exactly pleasant.”

Bucky scooted closer and Sam opened his arms to embrace him. “Next time I wanna see your face when you come,” he mused casually. “Spooning is good for beginners, can’t go so deep.”

“You some kinda professional?” Bucky asks, smiling.

“Just… experienced.”

Bucky feels a twinge of jealousy, unwarranted as it may be. Sam is his now. “Do you always do the uh—the—”

“The fucking? Most of the time, with a few exceptions. Why?” he asks, “You wanna fuck me, Barnes?”

_Yes, please!_ “I think I’d… enjoy that. If you want to, I mean.”

Sam leans in, kisses his neck, then licks all the way up his jaw to the shell of his ear and murmurs, “I’ll ride you into the sunset like a goddamn cowboy.”

_Well, yee-motherfuckin’-haw._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea to make Sam’s jacket pink from a [photoshoot](http://www.nicholasmaggio.com/story/anthony-mackie-for-rhapsody-april-14#6) Anthony Mackie did years ago and Sebastian Stan looks so good in a [blue suit](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/709246641298822289/?nic=1) I just couldn’t resist.
> 
> The next chapter is the gala so I’ll be including outfits for all the major players.


	13. Not a Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Captain, My Captain will return...

I just wanted to apologize for neglecting this work and leaving you all hanging. I have not and will not abandon this fic, but I had a ridiculous case of writer's block for about a month and then schoolwork picked up and hit me like a freight train straight from Hell. I'm currently working on the next chapter and hope to have it posted in time for the holidays.


End file.
